The 76th Hunger Games: S H A T T E R E D
by Raindapple16
Summary: In the wake of the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, full-out rebellion has broken out in the Districts. But without the rallying figure of Katniss Everdeen, they remain divided and un-convicted. As the 76th Games approach, President Snow must reclaim his fading power. For the 24 chosen, promises will be broken. Games will be played, shards will come together... and dolls will dance.
1. Prologue: The Power Above All

**Hello! I'm Raindapple16, and welcome to the 76th Hunger Games: Shattered!**

 **In this alternate world, for the 74th Hunger Games, Cato and Katniss Everdeen made it to the last two. Peeta died of infection. Cato defeated Katniss by managing to drop her off from the Cornucopia over to the mutts, thus becoming the Victor of the 74th Games.**

 **In the 75th Hunger Games, Haymitch had his head sliced off in the Bloodbath along with ten more other people. The Careers- Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, and Brutus hunted down all the tributes until finally Finnick, Johanna, Beetee, and Wiress's alliance was left. The other original members were killed earlier in the Games; Mags was poisoned by the fog, while Blight hit a force field (like in the original Games). Beetee figured out from Wiress's words that the arena was a clock. In the final fight, Wiress was almost instantly killed by Gloss. Beetee tried to help her but he couldn't in his fight with Cashmere. Johanna fought Enobaria and managed to kill her, while Finnick was defeated by Brutus. Beetee was eventually killed by Cashmere, but Johanna managed to kill the Career as he was distracted of his triumph. That left only Brutus, who Johanna managed to kill by throwing her last axe at, becoming crowned the Victor of the 75th Hunger Games.**

 **All tribute spots have been filled, so please sit back and enjoy the story! The prologue will be quite short, but I promise that the reapings will be longer.**

* * *

 **Prologue: The Power Above All**

Panem was in chaos, thanks to those damnable Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games were expected to keep the Districts in line, expected to keep the Capitol in power.

And for the past two years, they had completely failed. _Failed._

After the 74th Hunger Games- with that damnable Katniss Everdeen- the 75th Hunger Games had a backlash that President Snow had foreseen, but he had not expected such a full-out rebellion in District 11.

He sighed as he looked at the screen; the ragged people of 11 throwing whatever they had, even dirty dishes. The Peacekeepers shouting for order, shooting in random and whips flying through the air.

He turned off the screen with a push of a single red button. Seneca Crane would be here soon, along with the new Assistant Head Gamemaker this year.

Remembering the Bloodbath of the 75th Games, President Snow smiled. With satisfaction he rembered Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk of District 12 getting his head sliced off by Cashmere. It hadn't just been him- most of the drunks and the addicts had been killed in the Bloodbath.

The Career alliance had been a smaller number than usual that year, with the District 4 tributes, Finnick and Mags, who had made themselves their own alliance of Johanna and Blight of District 7, and Beetee and Wiress of District 3.

Over the course of five days in the arena, old Mags had been poisoned and killed by he poisonous fog, and Blight had hit a forcefield on the second day. The Careers had hunted down all but Finnick's alliance during those five days, and when the final fight came, it had been bloody and brutual.

Gloss had buried his axe in Wiress's head almost at once. Her district partner Beetee had tried to help her but he had been stopped by Cashmere. Brutus had managed to snap Finnick's neck, but Johanna had managed to kill Enobaria and killed a gloating Cashmere, who had just killed Beetee. She had also managed to kill Brutus to President Snow's annoyance with her last axe, becoming crowned the Victor of the 75th Hunger Games.

President Snow hadn't been deaf to the horrified cries of the Capitol citizens, especially when Finnick had been killed. He had heard them like this exactly once before, when the star-crossed lovers of District 12 had died. It had created a sense of guilt that they had not been able to save them, and had accepted the boy Cato as their Victor.

To the Districts, it had made them rebel, the most from 3, 5, 6, 8, and 11. All had been quietened and the participants had been either killed or prisoned- all but District 11, that was. But President Snow knew that the idea of a rebellion had never left the minds of the Districts citizens.

However, Snow knew that even if the districts dared to challenge him, the Capitol citizens didn't. There may be some rebels, but none of them were strong enough to challenge him publicly- yet.

There was a knock on the door, and Seneca Crane walked in, along with the new Assistant Head Gamemaker.

"Mr. Crane," said Snow.

Crane bowed his head. "President, it is an honor to see you again. May I introduce my comrade? This is the new Assistant Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee. He is quite skilled, I have to say."

"President," Plutarch shook his hand, meeting Snow's eyes directly. It impressed Snow- few people had the courage to do what Plutarch had just done. Plutarch respectfully added, "I am honored to meet you at last."

"The honor is mine," replied Snow. "Please sit, both of you."

"Sir," said Crane, straight into business. "We have completed the final arena, with the few adjustments that you wished to make in it. Dr. Astrid has also added our newest edition in it."

"And what will that be?" Snow asked. Crane pushed a few buttons, and a holographic image appeared against the President's sofa.

"These are what we call the Shadows," the Head Gamemaker said, eyes gleaming. "Dr. Astrid has been working on it for ages with the help of Dr. Whittaker, and of course, the rest of the muttation department."

"And how exactly will they work?" Snow asked testily. Crane pushed a few buttons and revealed a small video as the Shadows worked their way few obstacles.

"We'll be inserting them in about the time eight or so tributes will be left," said Crane. Beside him, Assistant Gamemaker Heavensbee looked as much as excited as his mentor did.

"Spectacular work, Mr. Crane," said Snow smoothly. "I expect to see more before the Games arrive."

"Of course, sir," answered Crane. "I will see you before the Games begin."

Snow nodded as a dismissal, and Crane deeply bowed his head, followed by Heavensbee, and then exited the room.

Snow then turned over, then quickly typed up a message. He pressed the send button, and relaxed as his reply came. The Districts would see this year what would happen to those who rebelled, and those who passed the Capitol secrets over to them.

Speaking swiftly onto the speaker, he ordered his very personal Avox to bring a cup of tea. Tea always seemed to reassure him.

A few seconds later, the Avox entered, bowed his head to Snow, left a cup of tea and quickly exited.

 _The Hunger Games will fulfill their true purpose this year,_ Snow promised himself as he took a sip of tea. _The districts will see how impossible it is to challenge to Capitol, that whatever happens, we will always win._

He smiled, thinking of the peculiar arena that Crane had showed him just a few minutes before. And of course, the 'Shadows'.

Snow smiled as he took another sip of tea.

Oh, yes, it was going to be an interesting year.

* * *

 **List of Tributes**

 **District 1 (Luxury)**

 **M: Chant Paquet (18)**

 **F: Victoire Doré (17)**

 **District 2 (Mason/Millitary)**

 **M: Ashlar Laurence (18)**

 **F: Julianne "Julie" Ascher (18)**

 **District 3 (Technology)**

 **M: Dagan Brooks (17)**

 **F: Amelia Villarreal (16)**

 **District 4 (Fishing)**

 **M: Ridge Cascade (18)**

 **F: Vivien "Viv" Crassly (17)**

 **District 5 (Power)**

 **M: Anthony Colton (14)**

 **F: Courtney White (16)**

 **District 6 (Transportation/Medicine)**

 **M: Raymond Kater (16)**

 **F: Sophia Edmonds (15)**

 **District 7 (Lumber)**

 **M: Rowan Wintermute (12)**

 **F: Camellia Redwood (15)**

 **District 8 (Textiles)**

 **M: Delvin Dayton (13)**

 **F: Ekaterina Sacremoto (16)**

 **District 9 (Grain)**

 **M: Taylor Ethandale (17)**

 **F: Andrea Evelyn Swain (14)**

 **District 10 (Livestock)**

 **M: Cameron Whittings (18)**

 **F: Idoya Meneses (16)**

 **District 11 (Agriculture)**

 **M: Kestrel Valliory (18)**

 **F: Shellby Patterson (14)**

 **District 12 (Coal/Mining)**

 **M: Nicholas "Nico" Forrest (15)**

 **F: Cassia Wells (17)**

* * *

 **So here we go! The next chapter will be our very first two Reapings!**

 **Updates will be pretty much once in two weeks. It may take longer, but no later than one month. A post on my profile will show what date I predict to be updating the chapters.**


	2. D1 & D2: The Controlled Minds

**Here's District 1 & 2 reapings! Sorry it was so late... life got crazy, if you know what I mean. Thanks to all submitters!**

 **I'm sorry if your tribute wasn't accepted. I had to make a couple of hard choices (especially for the D7 female), and I'm sorry if your tribute didn't manage to get in. I hope they manage to get accepted in some of the other amazing SYOTs out there!**

 **Thanks to all those amazing reviewers! Your support means a lot (seriously).**

* * *

 **Chapter** **1: D1** **&** **D2: The Controlled Minds**

 **District 1**

 _It's strange to have nobody in here,_ thought Victoire Doré as she lunged to parry a harsh strike. It was a rare thing indeed, to have almost nobody inside the Career Academy. And Victoire had seized upon the rare chance- it would be the last time that she could practice in District 1 before the Hunger Games.

Victoire had managed to become the female tribute for this year's Games, along with another boy named Braxton Saleen. Victoire had been training for this very day for seven years- and she was proud of it.

She broke through Jasper's defense with a well-aimed strike, her face tightening as she did of concentration, and Jasper laughed as she did.

"Look at your expression!" He choked on laughter as he clashed swords with her again, blocking Victoire's attempt to disarm him. Victoire let out a small smile, the kind only Jasper could draw out of her.

He was nineteen now, and had became a trainer in the Career Academy. He had missed his chance to gain a spot last year, since the tributes had been reaped out of the existing pool of Victors. Victoire knew that he'd have won the position if Jasper had had the chance. He was still bitter about it, and anyone who didn't want to damage a major artery of themselves didn't mention a word about it.

With well-parried strikes, Victoire managed to disarm Jasper with a skillful slash, who laughed again at her tightened face once more. Victoire couldn't help a smile.

"Come on, let's move onto archery," Jasper announced.

"Archery?" Victoire made a face. She knew that she was pouting like a little kid, but she couldn't help it.

"You know you need to be talented in every weapon to win the Games," said Jasper patiently, handing her a bow and a quiver of arrows.

"It's not like these are common in the Games," Victoire muttered, but she knew that Jasper was right. Before they could get started, however, a gruff voice interrupted them.

 _Oh shit,_ Victoire cursed inwardly.

"I would have expected more from this year's tribute," said the Head Trainer sternly. "And you, Trainer Vixen," he said to Jasper. "You know the Academy is closed on Reaping Day."

"My apologies, sir," said Jasper, ducking his head.

"It was my idea," Victoire mumbled. "I apologize, sir."

The Head Trainer looked at them, eyes piercing. "The reaping will start in two hours, Trainer Vixen, pack up the equipment. Miss Doré, get back to your house and get ready. The last thing we want is to have is an unpresentable tribute." His eyes passed over Victoire's dusty clothes and her unusually messy hair.

Victoire cast an apologetic look at Jasper, who must've fumed but didn't dare show it in front of the Head Trainer.

She handed the bow and quiver back to him, and then left the Academy. The main doors were just ahead, but before she could exit the Academy she went over to the bathrooms to check her reflection.

She looked absolutely horrible, dust and sweat in her face and clothes and her usual platinum blonde hair messy. Victoire shook her head at the sight. She would shower at the house.

When she got out of the bathroom, she looked around to see if Jasper had finished packing up, but evidently he hadn't, or he had already gone home. Victoire felt a flash of guilt, but ignored it. Today was her time to shine; she couldn't let skirmishes upset her.

After about fifteen minutes of walking through the streets of the Diamond Section, Victoire arrived home. The Doré villa was a beautiful home with many expensive beauties, such as a vast swimming pool and beautiful gardnery. The Dorés were one of the richest families of District 1, and many admired their home.

"Honey!" cried Victoire's mother, Jade, as she walked in. "I wasn't expecting you for a while. And why are you all a mess?"

"The Head Trainer found us," Victoire sighed. "He made me leave."

"Go and shower, sweetie," Her mother shook her head. "You are all a mess!"

"Where's father?"

"An emergency happened. I'm so very sorry, honey, but I don't think you'll get to see him before the reaping."

"It's all right," said Victoire. "I'll see him at the goodbyes." She would have usually been annoyed at the fact her father had been busy- _again_ \- but she wasn't going to let skirmishes spoil her day, like she had told herself with Jasper.

"Now why don't you go and shower? I've got a lovely dress for you," cooed her mother. Slightly disgruntled with all the fussing, but pleased at the same time, Victoire nodded and went upstairs to change.

 _Today is my day to shine,_ Victoire told herself as she entered the showers a while after. She couldn't help feeling slightly nervous for the reaping.

Of course, everyone knew that she would be volunteering, but what if some idiot decided that they wanted the glory, no matter what happened after?

 _No,_ Victoire reassured herself. _That won't happen. I've been training for this my whole life. This isn't the barbaric District 2, where no one cares who was chosen and fights to get the tribute positions when they are televised by the whole of Panem. This is the honorary District 1, and things like that don't happen. Everyone respects the chosen tributes._

But life never went perfectly, and Victoire knew that. She was no fool. It had its own twists and turns, and even if her odds were 99 percent in her favor, there was that one percent that might change everything. And it wasn't just the reaping. The same odds counted for the Games as well.

The odds were already in Victoire's favor- but that didn't mean she would always triumph.

* * *

"Chant! Chant!" A voice awakened Chant Paquet out of his drowsiness as he studied his reflection in the mirror. "Chant Paquet!"

"Yes, mother?" Chant snapped back into focused mode.

"Focus!" Chant's mother, Brandi, chatised him, with a stern look from his father, Shane. "Now, which one do you prefer? The Rose1718, or the BlueBerry05?"

Chant yawned inwardly. He couldn't bring himself to say that he absolutely hated either one of those perfumes.

Even though neither of his parents were perfume-pickers- they were, instead, responsible for hiring and firing the factory's workers, as well as managing the factory's needs- their life-wishes were to discover a fantastic perfume and report to the CEO of the factory- and become rich. And they just had to drag their only child into it.

 _Where are Hermes and Price?_ Chant wondered. _I need an excuse to get out of here._ He _hated_ the perfume factory. It smelled of all kinds and gave him a headache. And honestly, what kind of person named their factory l'odeur du ciel? Named their factory sky smell?

 _this smell is sky smell,_ thought Chant distastefully. _At_ _least_ _it's Reaping day. Even if Hermes and Price don't manage to find me and get me out of this hellplace, I'll be getting out in at least an hour._

Chant's family lived in the very core of District 1, commonly known as the Diamond of District 1. It didn't take them much time to get to the Main Square where the reapings took place, and it took only twenty minutes or so to get fully ready as Chant was the family's only child. The reapings weren't in for an hour and a half, so Chant knew that he would be stuck here at least an hour or so.

He checked his reflection in the mirror: Ruffled blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin- Perfection was what Chant was. Beautiful, lean, muscular, Chant held the attention of all the girls in the district. Pride flickered through him; not everyone was so lucky to be like him.

"Chant, you're doing it again!"

"Sorry," Chant muttered, snapping out of his daze.

His mother sighed. "Chant, if you can't focus, just go and get ready for the reaping early."

Relief coursed through Chant as he curtly nodded and left the perfume factory.

As he walked home, he spotted the Career Academy. Chant never really focused in the Career Academy- he personally thought it was a waste of time. Why spend time studying while he could study his reflection? Sure, there was honor and everything, but Chant thought that it was too big of a risk. The single prospect of surviving the Hunger Games was almost impossible. Chant knew this from watching past Hunger Games, how even the most experienced, well-trained tributes could fail.

"Chant!" A voice called. "Chant!"

For a moment Chant thought it was his mother, calling him back to the damned perfume factory, and his heart sank. But he cheered up as he saw two familiar faces waiting for him beside the house. _Hermes and Price. Finally._

"Did you see the Doré girl?" asked Price as Chant reached them. Chant frowned. The lights had been off in the Career Academy.

"She was practicing with that friend Jasper. Guess she's getting in some last-minute practice. She looked like shit," Price added.

"I know," Hermes chimed in. "Look at her _clothes._ I mean, she's going to bring shame to District 1."

"Not when the Capitol stylists dress her up," replied Chant. Hermes shrugged.

"I suppose. As long as they don't break their fashion this year."

Chant nodded. It was true; the District 1 tributes almost always looked beautiful and were common favorites in the Capitol, but who knew?

"Why didn't you come and get me at the perfume factory?" Chant changed the subject. He didn't want to talk about the Doré girl. Hermes and Price looked down at the ground.

"Sorry," Price mumbled at last, "but we didn't want to get into the factory. You know. The smell..."

Chant sighed. _What a pair of unreliable friends._ But then he reminded himself like every time he got frustrated with the two that Hermes and Price almost always stuck with him... except today. Maybe a few couple other times, but the only ones that would laugh and joke back to Chant's jokes at the Career Academy were Hermes and Price. Even if any of them did- most of them thought that Chant was an idiot and a stuck-up- they never laughed in sight of the trainers of the Academy or joined in with Chant's jokes in fear that they would be punished.

As neither Chant, Hermes, and Price had no intentions of getting into the Games, the trainers couldn't really punish them except getting them kicked out of the Academy. But they couldn't do that, either; all of the three eighteen-year-olds' parents made decent salaries, enough to threaten the Head Trainer. However to the other students of the Academy, their life-wishes were to get into the Games and become Victor, the trainers could punish them by making sure none of them ever got a spot in the Games. Not even the wealthiest residents could intefere in picking the tributes for the Games in District 1.

 _I actually feel sorry for the Doré family,_ Chant realized with a prickle of surprise. _They are going to lose a child this year._ With every bit of arrogance that was the general reason for the District 1 tributes losing the Victor spot each year, Chant wouldn't be surprised if she died in the Bloodbath. He shook his head. _If I'm right, it'll be unlikely that District 1 will be having a Victor this year..._

Not that he cared, of course.

* * *

"Good luck," her mother murmured as they reached the seventeen-year-olds' section, dropping her off. "I'll see you at the goodbyes, my dear."

"Don't worry," said Victoire brightly. Now that she was facing the situation, all her worries vanished. Of course she would become District 1's female tribute this year. Of course she would come home as the 76th Victor of the 76th Hunger Games. Of course. How could she have been so stupid to doubt herself?

She looked around her, and to her distaste she saw that the other seventeen-year-olds were chattering and gossiping like a herd of starlings, while some older people were stumbling around, drunk. Victoire gazed in disgust as one of the drunkards tried to kiss a pretty blonde girl from the sixteen-year-olds' section.

 _They should be more respectful,_ she thought crossly. After all, this was being televised by the whole of Panem.

After about ten minutes, the realing began and the mayor walked on stage. The crowd cheered. Behind him sat the past Victors of District 1- there had originally been six in all, but as both Cashmere and Gloss had died in last year's Quarter Quell, only four remained. Beside them stood the Head Peacekeeper, and as well as the mayor's family members. After the Treaty of Treason were read out and a video of how the Hunger Games had brought glory to the Capitol and the Districts, and then the mayor introduced the District's escort, who was obviously drunk.

"I'm so g-glad to be here in the amazing District 1, as always!" hiccuped the escort into the microphone. Victoire saw the mayor flash a dismayed look at the cameras. "Now we'll start with farther more ado... I know you're all so excited!" squealed the escort. The crowd cheered back enthuiasically despite the escort's attitude. Giggling like a little girl, the escort then reached her hand into the girls' reaping bowl. She quickly pulled out a paper slip.

Victoire had been so distracted that she almost forgot to pay attention when the escort started to read out the name. She came back into focused-mode just as the escort read out:

"And the lucky girl is... Celiyn Oakwood!"

No one stepped out from the crowd. They all knew that Victoire would be voluntering.

"I volunteer!" Victoire's voice rang out, loud and clear as she rushed out from the seventeen-year-olds' section, eager to introduce herself.

"And we have a volunteerer!" the escort cried enthusiastically, shoving the microphone under Victoire's chin. "And who might you be, dear?"

"Victoire Doré!" Victoire announced confidently. "And I'm proud to be District 1's female tribute for the 76th Hunger Games!"

"And isn't she eager!" yelled the escort over the applause. "And I bet her partner will be as much as wonderful!"

Victoire smiled, trying to spot Braxton in the eighteen-year-olds' section.

"Chant Paquet!"

There was a very long silence.

Victoire searched the crowd frantically, wondering where Braxton was. _What is he doing?_ Victoire inwardly screamed. Braxton was supposed to volunteer! Where was he?

A few more seconds passed in complete silence.

"Um, Chant Paquet?" the escort called out, looking concerned. "Is he here?"

Slowly, out of the farthest corners of the eighteen-year-olds' section stepped out a completely pale boy with ruffled blonde hair and blue eyes.

Chant swallowed. His mind was screaming at him, that he had been just reaped. _You're going to die!_ His mind screamed at him. _You're going to die!_

But a part of his brain stayed calm. Legs shuddering, hoping that no one was looking, Chant let out a deep breath. He held his chin high, and marched confidently over to the stage, winking at few of the girls as he did so. One of them clasped her hand over her mouth, gasping like fish out of water. But she made no sound.

When he reached the stage, legs still trembling, there was silence. Only the whisper of the wind broke it. The escort didn't seem to notice though.

"So your tributes for the 76th Hunger Games, District 1!" she trilled. "Victoire Doré- and Chant Paquet! Shake hands now, dears!"

Bitterly they did. And for the first time ever, Chant found that he couldn't blame her.

She could've had a skilled, well-loved partner who would've been a strong ally in the Games. Instead she got Chant who had no skills whatsoever, and who was hated by almost all the boys because he got all the girls.

He took a last, long sweep at District 1 and its citizens ad he was led away, knowing that it was probably the last time he would see his home again. His eyes met the ones of his terrified parents, and he tried vainly for a smile as he entered the Justice Bulding and the doors closesd, blocking them from his sight.

* * *

 **District 2**

Julie Ascher stared out at the gray sky emptily as she nibbled at her breakfadt. It was Reaping Day. _Her_ day. So why did everything feel so... unwelcoming? So... empty?

"Are you ok, Julie?" Her little brother, Jinx squeaked. "You look a little sad."

"I'm not sad," Julie snapped, snapping out of her reverberation. Jinx took no notice.

"Mommy says that it's your day. She says that you're gonna leave for a while but then you're coming back really rich- richer than we are now!"

Julie suppressed a sigh at her brother's innocence. Yes, they would be rich when she came back from the Games, but Julie's family was far away from being rich _now_.

Three years ago Julie's father had left them. He was a rich man, but be didn't approve of Julie's mother's dreams, that Julie had to become tribute in the Hunger Games so that she could become Victor and be even richer than they were now. He had eventually left when he had realized that neither Julie or her mother would listen.

When he had left, the source of all wealth that Jinx, Julie, and her mother had ever had possessed vanished. Luckily Julie's mother had managed to exceed a test for serving as housemaid in a former Victor's house, and therefore they had enough to live on. Julie's mother had even managed to get her into the Career Academy somehow, for reasons Julie still didn't understand. _I 'twisted the strands'_ , her mother had explained- which explained about almost nothing, at least to Julie, that was. Now her mother was addicted to morphling, and it was rare that she even came home. Julie had to look after Jinx.

 _It doesn't matter,_ Julie reassured herself. She was going to win the Games, come home as Victor. She would have never have to worry about her father ever again.

She was propelled into that moment from two years ago again, no matter how badly she tried to restrain herself:

" _You've almost completed the Trials, Julie," said her mentor, Enobaria. "You now have just one more Trial left in front of you."_

 _"What is it?" asked Julie enthusiastically. Enobaria flicked her hand._

 _A few seconds later, a tortured and a bound boy was brought into the room. He looked less than twelve._

 _"This boy's name is Alby Pusoriter," said Enobaria. "The Peacekeepers have been extremely generous. Alby was caught trying to trade drugs inside the district. He was warned off with a whipping, but he did it two more times still and was caught. His sentence was death, but when I told the Head Peacekeeper that one of my students were nearly done with the Trials, he handed me this boy." Enobaria smiled._

 _"What am I supposed to do with him?"_

 _"You must torture him in every way you can. I will assist you. I'll have to leave the room, but you will hear me from the speakers."_

 _A few moments later, Julie held an injector in her hand, a sharp dagger in the other._

 _"All right," said Enobaria's voice from the speaker. "I want you to start with his back. Make a long, deep slash in the middle of his back."_

 _Julie approached the boy. The boy stared at her with terrified eyes. As she tried to flip him over to his back, the boy screamed, "Please, please, I won't do it again! Please don't kill me! I have a little sister back at home… she has l-leukemia and we needed money to cure her! She'll die without me!"_

 _"In the Hunger Games," said Enobaria's voice from the speakers. "There will be people who you must kill to survive who have family. Who have sentimental stories, exactly like Alby. You must learn how to deal with them."_

 _Julie turned the boy over, her face carefully devoid of any emotion. Alby thrashed and screamed. He managed to kick Julie's injector out of her hand. She ignored him, and focused on the knife._

 _Now helplessly flipped over and completely at her mercy, Alby hysterically screamed as Julie cut a long, deep slash across his back. It wasn't enough to hurt a major artery, but enough to cover his back in blood._

 _"Now cut through the muscle of his shoulder blades," Enobaria instructed. Julie did as she said. Alby's screams grew louder, and Julie dug her knife into him viciously. Muscle and blood tore from the wound, splattered all across the floor as Alby wailed and screamed._

 _"Y-you bitch!" He screamed at Julie. "Y-you bitch! You fucking BITCH!"_

 _Julie ignored him, and did the same to his opposite shoulder blade._

 _"Now zig-zag the knife through his thumb," said Enobaria. "Make sure the finger does not tear completely. He must feel the pain. Do the same to the other finger."_

 _Julie did. Alby passed out from the pain._

 _"Give him an injection," instructed Enobaria. "He still needs to feel even more pain."_

 _Julie did, and Alby's screams came back, full-force. And it repeated; digging, hacking, injecting, digging, hacking, injecting, digging, hacking…_

 _After seven fingers, an ear, six toes, and his whole body covered slick red blood, Alby was finally allowed to die._

 _Enobaria entered the room, warmly smiling. "Congratulations, Julie! You've made it past the Trials!"_

 _Later in the evening, Julie had buried her head in her pillow and had cried herself to sleep._

I just killed someone, _was the only thought that Julie could numbly muster. I_ just killed someone.

Julie whipped back into the present, shivering and trembling. She told herself that it would be all right. It didn't matter. But… Julie couldn't help but be scared of her own thoughts.

 _What if I don't volunteer?_

 _No_. Fierce stubborness struck her. She wasn't about to throw away eight years of training for nothing.

This was the day she had been waiting for since she had been ten years old.

She wasn't about to give up her dream just because of a stupid memory.

 _I'll come home as Victor!_ Julie thought fiercely. _The past doesn't matter anymore. I'll enter the Games- and I will make my own fairytale ending! I will be the 76th Victor!_

* * *

Far from the richer and brighter streets of District 2, of the darker streets, shadowy figures stood.

"It's Reaping Day, Press," said one of them tentatively. "Will it really be safe?"

"Don't get chickened out, Tara," snapped Press. "Not now."

Ashlar Laurence sighed. It was Reaping Day, and the Peacekeepers would be on extreme caution. It wasn't going to be easy to break through.

"What's our goal, gang?" snapped Press as he always did when the gang was uncertain.

Ashlar glanced at his older brother. He couldn't help but wonder, _what if we get caught?_

 _We won't,_ he reassured himself.

"To abolish the strictness of the Capitol!" The gang roared.

"Good," said Press. "Then let's go."

"This is not going to be safe," Ashlar muttered in an undertone to Hershel, who shrugged.

"We've always known it's not safe. That's why we both joined the Series 356, instead of any other gang. Don't be such a wimp."

In order to not get traced back too easily, Press had named the gang the Series 356. This didn't reassure Ashlar, but he continued running after Press, his gun tightly against his chest.

After about five minutes, the gang arrived in one of the pathways that led directly to the front of the Justice Building.

"Okay," snapped Press. "Ashlar's group, you can stay in here. Sonya's group, go over behind. And my group will go to the opposite side. I'll give you the warning shot."

They had divided up their groups before coming. Ashlar nodded, slightly tense but unwilling to show it.

"Good luck," said Press. "Remember- our goal is to kill all the Peacekeepers guarding the Justice Building. And then we _go_. Everyone got that?"

Everyone nodded.

Press and Sonya's groups disappeared into the alleyways, while Ashlar's group stayed. Five minutes later, they heard Press's warning shot, and then shots and screams were all Ashlar could hear.

He lunged forward as well, targetting a Peacekeeper that was guarding the doors. The bullet went through the Peacekeeper's chest, and the Peacekeeper fell to the ground, motionless.

All around him, shots still rang the air. One of the Peacekeepers stared at him and screamed.

"You're the tribute! The tribute-" Three shots in the air silenced her forever. Ashlar's heart was beating, worse than before.

With the money the gang had given him, Ashlar had used it to enter the Career Academy. Not because he wanted to be in the Hunger Games, but because he had wanted to learn how to defend himself better. However the Academy had realized how skilled Ashlar was and had chosen him for this year's tribute.

Ashlar hadn't wanted the job. But he feared that the gang would ditch him if he didn't volunteer this year. In the Series 356, weaklings weren't allowed.

The Peacekeepers weren't all subdued though. It was only when a bullet passed his ear by an inch Ashlar snapped back into attention.

He saw Tarvan fall as a bullet pierced his chest, saw Callia fall as a bullet pierced her head. Slow anger burned inside him, and Ashlar shot even more fiercely.

No more Peacekeepers recognized him, to much of Ashlar's relief. All around him, the ground was stained bright red. Then alarm struck him.

He could hear footsteps from the distance, running towards them. Reinforcements.

"Retreat!" Ashlar heard Press's cry, and followed. All of them hurried over to the bushes, and when the Peacekeepers arrived they found nothing but the bodies and the blood.

"Release the dogs," Ashlar heard one of the Peacekeepers order gruffly. "They couldn't have gone far."

Ashlar smiled. They had covered the dogs' scent glands with a certain handkerchief with certain chemicals; luckily for them, Tara's father worked in the Capitol labs and he kept some things back home. It was easy for Tara and a few others to steal a few from time to time.

"Okay," announced Press after about ten minutes. "I think the coast's clear. Let's all go back home and get ready for the reaping." Press glanced at Ashlar, and cleared his throat. But he didn't say anything, and the gang split up."

"See you later," Hershel hissed as he passed. Ashlar just nodded.

Soon, only Ashlar and Press were left in the clearing.

"We'll have to go to the Main Square straight," said Press. "It'll take too long to get back to our house. We'll have to wait a little, though," he added. "It'll seem suspicious if we turn up too early."

Ashlar nodded. The Laurences lived in not the outskirts of District 2, but not in the core, either. They lived in somewhat between, but it still took them thirty minutes or so to get home, and there were only about fifteen minutes before the reapings started.

It was clear that Press wanted to say something about him being this year's tribute, but he kept his mouth shut. Ashlar wasn't sure if he wanted to talk to his brother or not- so he did the same.

Minutes seemed like hours. There was tense silence between the two siblings.

Finally with three minutes before the reapings started, Press turned and led his younger brother towards the Main Square.

Ashlar swallowed as he saw the Head Peacekeeper behind the mayor, looking livid. Like it or not, Ashlar was scared.

* * *

Julie made her way through the eighteen-year-olds' section, heart thrumming against her ribcage.

She caught the eye of her soon-to-be partner, Ashlar Laurence. There were rumors flying around him about how he had been involved in the Peacekeeper shooting a few months ago. Julie gave him a curt nod, despite her misgivings.

"Julie," hissed Caroline Strayer, one of her only friends from the Career Academy. "Did you hear about the Peacekeeper shooting that happened _today_?"

" _Today_?" Julie stared. "It's Reaping Day! What kind of people-"

"I don't know, but apparently _he_ was involved according to the rumors," said Caroline in an undertone, flicking a hostile glance at Ashlar. "You better be careful in the arena. Susan actually thinks he's a-"

Before Caroline could continue, the mayor stepped onto the stage and began his speech. Caroline flashed a look at her; _I'll tell you at the goodbyes._ Julie nodded to show that she understood.

She was so fixated with the information that Caroline had told her that she nearly forgot to volunteer. But when her time came, Julie clearly called out and confidently skipped over to the stage.

"And what's your name, dear?"

"Julianne Ascher. But I prefer Julie."

The escort turned to the crowd. "Your female tribute for the 76th Hunger Games, District 2- Julie Ascher!"

Cheers erupted in the air. Julie took a deep breath, taking in the crowd's excitement. She couldn't help but smile.

A few moments later, Ashlar came onto the stage. Ashlar smiled as he spotted Hershel in the crowd, and a few other members of the Series 356 as he was announced male tribute of District 2 for this year's Games.

He shook hands with Julie, and gave her a small smile. She didn't return it, instead she looked at him... suspiciously? Was it possible she knew about his involvement in...

 _That's impossible,_ Ashlar reassured himself.

He kept his smile on as they were led towards the Justice Building, knowing that the more enthusiastic he looked, the more sponsors he would get.

And Ashlar had no intent to die in the Games. He would come home, at whatever cost he had to make.

The doors of the Justice Building closed, sealing both tributes to whatever fate awaited him in the Games.

* * *

 **The handkerchief Ashlar mentioned with the dogs is actually real. It was used in World War 2 to smuggle the Jewish out.**

 **Here's your two questions for the day:**

 **#Q1: Which tribute did you enjoy the most?**

 **#Q2: What can I improve on? (this is ny first fanfic, so I do need some help)**

 **Again, I'm sorry that this chapter was so late- I promise I'll try to update earlier.**

 **Please review/favorite/follow if you enjoyed!**

 **\- Ivy**


	3. D3 & D4: The Blinded Minds

**A quick update this time! I'm trying to make it up to the last chapter (which was really late). I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter; most of you are telling me that the chapter is very good but with a few spelling mistakes. Thanks for the feedback~**

 **Anyway, here's the next chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: D3 & D4: The Blinded Minds**

 **District 3**

"Amelia, we have to go now."

"Please, Sabrina," Amelia pleaded with her girlfriend. "Just a little more?"

"Amelia, there's only ten minutes left until the reapings! We have to go!" At Amelia's pleading look, Sabrina wrapped herself around her girlfriend gently. "Amelia, look… we have to go."

"No we don't," Amelia protested. "We could go off into the woods and live there."

"Amelia-" Sabrina sighed at Amelia's innocence. Amelia had grown up in the richer buildings of District 3, or whatever luxury the District could provide. However she had lost her father by leukemia one day, and her mother, Annemarie, did not approve of her relationship with Sabrina and had kicked her out a few months ago. "This is hardly the time. I'm going without you."

Amelia sighed as well, realizing the argument was lost. She couldn't stay anywhere without Sabrina. The two exchanged a loving kiss inside their small apartment, and in ragged dresses (the only clothes they had) they two sixteen-year-old girls hurried in their way, knowing that they would miss the reaping if they didn't.

Both Amelia and Sabrina had been forced to take out terasse that year. Sabrina had refused to let her, but Amelia had pressed on the subject and eventually Sabrina had given up.

"Amelia?" called a familiar voice from one of the shops.

"How are you, Lauren?" Amelia smiled as a dark-haired girl emerged from the apothecary.

"Hello, Lauren," said Sabrina rather loudly. Sabrina knew that Lauren, Amelia's childhood friend, much like Amelia's mother did not approve of the girls' relationship.

"Well, see you, Amzelia," said Lauren cooly, not even flicking a glance to acknowlege the girl. "I hope you don't get reaped."

"You, too," replied Amelia, clearly uncomfortable with the tension between the two. "Good luck."

Lauren nodded, and then disappeared back into the apothecary. Amelia sighed.

"Did you have to do that?" she asked Sabrina.

"Do what?" Sabrina protested.

"Act so... so... so uncomfortably?"

"Amelia, listen to me." Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Look. She's the one who ignored me."

"She shouldn't have done that," Amelia admitted. "But if you didn't act so _uncomfortably_..."

"It's not me who's the problem!" shouted Sabrina, losing her temper with Amelia. "The bitch keeps acting like I'm some shit because I'm your girlfriend! Because we're lesbians! She thinks I lured you to be lesbian or something!"

"No, she doesn't! Don't talk about her like that!" Amelia shouted back, mostly in despair. She knew perfectly well that Sabrina was telling the truth, but she hated to admit it. Both girls fell silent.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," said Sabrina first guiltily.

"It's ok," Amelia said abruptly. "Let's go. We're going to be late for the reaping."

"Amelia." A voice stopped Amelia dead in her tracks. Sabrina instantly turned protective as she stepped in front of her girlfriend.

"Mother," said Amelia, her voice quivering as she stepped out from behind Sabrina. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Just look at you," said Annemarie. "You are ragged. Is this the way I taught you to present yourself to people?" Amelia's lips quivered. This was the first time she had seen her mother after the incident in which had resulted in Amelia being kicked out of the house.

"Leave her alone," Sabrina snapped in the tense silence that lasted between mother and daughter.

Annemarie's lips curled. "So you're the bitch that led my daughter to this state." Her eyes passed over Amelia's rags.

"You're the one who won't let Amelia do what she wants." Sabrina held her head high. "She's happier with me."

"Do you know what they call you back in town?" Annemarie laughed. Amelia flinched. "They call you the Kidnapper. The lesbian girl who lures girls to sleep with her."

"Probably you spread the rumor," Sabrina replied. "You're a bitch." She grabbed Amelia's hand, and then stalked away. "Come on, Amelia. We're going to be late for the reaping. The bitch can, but not us."

"I've come to offer you a deal, Amelia," called Annemarie after her. "I was wrong. I love you, and you're my daughter. Ditch the bitch and you can come back to the life of luxury. You're my daughter, Amelia. You belong to me."

"She doesn't belong to anyone!" Sabrina yelled. "She doesn't belong to anyone, especially not you!" She turned back. "Amelia, get to the reaping. I'm going to have a talk- a talk with your _mother."_

She said the word like it was the most disgusting thing that anyone could be.

"Sabrina, please..." Amelia's tears threatened to overflow. "Let's just go."

"I'm going to argue this, once and for all," Sabrina snapped. "You _don't_ belong to anyone, Amelia. You belong to yourself." She turned and walked straight over to Annemarie, who sneered.

The sounds of shouts and yells echoed amongst the street as Amelia walked away, trembling as she heard the Sabrina scream and her mother screech right back. The echoes seemed too loud.

Just too loud to be the echoes of arguements of only two people. But Amelia did not look back.

It was a decision that Amelia would regret forever.

* * *

Of the most shadowy streets of District 3, sounds of arguing voices came.

"I told you, I heard a footstep!"

"You think the merest sound of a leaf rustling is a footstep! Last time you thought the sound of the wind blowing were gunshots!"

"I swear, this time-"

 _Is it safe?_ Dagan Brooks wondered, balancing out his choices. He could wait until the Peacekeepers were gone, or he could go right now, while they were distracted. _But if I'm caught..._ He swallowed at the mere prospect of the idea.

Dagan waited a few minutes for the Peacekeepers to pass by, but they didn't.

 _I'm going to be late for the reaping if I don't go now._

Dagan quickly darted pass the streets. He realized too late that there was a certain pebble in his path, just waiting for him to trip.

When he fell, the sound of the crash ringing all around the street, he heard a gunshot ring, felt it whizz inches from his head and ran. Dagan darted through the familiar shadowy streets, making twists and turns to make sure that he was confusing the Peacekeepers.

"I told you!" He heard one of them cry triumphantly. "I told you someone was here!"

"Enough," snapped the other. "We need to concentrate."

Their voices faded off to the background as Dagan quietly slipped through another alley that led straight behind the Justice Building.

 _Home safe,_ he thought bitterly as he walked around the building. Heartbeats later, he spotted somebody he had not seen for more than three years.

Quickly before he could lose her like he had done so many years ago, Dagan slipped past the woman and stood front of her, blocking her pathway.

"Mother," Dagan said quietly.

"Dagan." Arianna Brooks's voice was cool. "How are you doing? You look well."

"I wish you'd thought of that three years ago," Dagan replied quietly. A taut silence stretched out between them. Arianna broke it first by turning away, but Dagan grabbed her roughly.

"You've hidden well from me. I know the darkest alleys of District 3, know the most shadowy parts of it like I know my own home. And still you hid, mother. Are you afraid of meeting your own _son_?"

"You're a bastard, Dagan," said Arianna cooly, not showing a hint of her emotion. "You know that's true. I've told you the story."

Arianna had fallen in love with a Peacekeeper at the age of sixteen. She had taken her pills, but somehow, two years later, she had ended up with a child. Ashamed, angry, and disbelieving, Arianna's parents had thrown her out in the streets. Arianna had hunted for the Peacekeeper for months, only to find out later that her love had been placed in another district.

With that final straw, Arianna had given Dagan to the orphanage, had left him to endure the whips of its harsh teachers and his fellow 'friends'. When he had become thirteen, Arianna had visited him and informed him that she was his birth mother, and the full story of how he had been left at the orphanage. Then she had left him for the second time, saying that she would not be back this time.

With that, coming to his senses, Dagan had left the orphanage. He had fended for himself and made a business by selling drugs, but all the while he hunted for his mother. At reapings, while he made business, while he set up camp at a dark street- she was nowhere to be seen.

Three years later, he had finally found her. And this was her reaction.

"You're going to be late for the reaping, dear," Arianna said. "You may want to get going."

"Why did you give me away? Why couldn't you-"

"Oh, you're getting rather sentimental, dear," said Arianna. "And the Capitol papers aren't on your side of the argument. You should get going. You don't want to be whipped by the Peacekeepers, do you?"

"Why do you care?" Dagan clenched his fists.

Arianna ignored the question. She walked away, back to Dagan, towards the front of the Justice Building where the crowd was already gathering.

Dagan didn't stop her. Coldness had fractured him, leaving everything else out.

* * *

Amelia managed to arrive at the reaping in time, just when the mayor started to make his speech.

 _At least he isn't drunk like last year,_ thought Amelia. Last year the mayor had almost hobbled off stage while making the speech, and District 3 had found it enormously embarrassing.

The ceremony continued, the Treaty of Treason followed by the usual video of how the Hunger Games had been created. Amelia looked anxiously around for Sabrina, but before she could look properly the reapings began, and Amelia was forced to focus.

"It's my pleasure to be here again!" hobbled the escort. "I'm so excited to see what kind of wonderful tributes we'll get this year... I mean, we really need more Victors! Don't we?" Her eyes scanned the small collection of the two only remaining Victors. Beetee and Wiress had died in last year's Games.

No one laughed. Hatred glazed the air. Both former Victors had been liked by the district, even though Wiress hadn't been mentally stabilized. The escort seemed to notice, and quickly skipped over to the girls' reaping bowl.

"You're female tribute for this year's Games... uh, Amelia Villarreal?"

It couldn't have happened.

 _You're just dreaming Amelia! Your name's only in there a few times!_ Amelia reassured herself. _This was the only year you took out terasse. You just misheard her. She said Amy or something like that, not Amelia._

"Um... Amelia Villarreal? Is she out there?"

When no one answered, the escort asked again for Amelia, who felt as if her body had transformed into ice. In her frozen brain, only one, desperate thought registered:

 _Sabrina. Sabrina can save me. Where is Sabrina?_

"Sabrina!" Amelia screamed with all her might. "Sabrina! Please, please-" She began to run, hysteric tears flowing down her face. The Peacekeepers came through the crowd and started to drag her towards the stage. Amelia resisted with all her might, all the while screaming for her girlfriend who had always been so protective of her.

Amelia was dragged onto the stage despite her efforts, her rags and tearstruck dirt-covered face in display in front of not just District 3- in the whole of Panem.

"Now, now," said the escort soothingly, despite the alarm in her eyes. The mayor had already covered his face, knowing that right now District 3 was a laughingstock in front of the whole of Panem. "I'm sure-"

"SABRINA!" Amelia's screaming drowned out the rest of the escort's words. "I DON'T WANT TO DIE, SABRINA! I don't want to die!"

 _Sabrina!_ Amelia thought frantically as she screamed for her girlfriend. She could save her! She could save her! Any moment now, Sabrina would jump in front of her protectively, like she always had… any moment now... like always...

"She's certainly one for hysterics," the escort laughed forcefully. "Okay, then. No volunteers?" the escort rushed on, ignoring Amelia's sobs. "Okay Amelia Villarreal! You're tribute for this year's Games! Now your male tribute for this year's Hunger Games, District 3…" THe escort reached towards the reaping bowl.

"No!" Amelia screeched. "SABRINA!" Tears flowed down her face, staining her rags even dirtily than before, although that should have been impossible. The whole district looked pitifully at her, and it was clear what they were thinking.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

The escort allowed Amelia to grieve a couple more seconds before she put her hand into the boys' reaping bowl, and quickly pulled out a slip, eager to end the reaping.

"Dagan Brooks!"

When his name was called, Dagan almost collapsed on the spot. The walls that he had put up to block himself from the memories collapsed, and they came into him in a swift flood of endless water.

However the years of training his emotions did not betray him. Dagan maintained a brave look at he came up to the stage before a shaking, crying Amelia.

The escort looked more calmed down as Dagan walked up, and managed even to happily trill:

"Happy Hunger Games, District 3! And may the odds be ever in your favor! Shake hands now you two."

Dagan grabbed the crying girl's hand and shook it. Amelia's hand was quivering, and her eyes were scanning the audience, still looking for Sabrina and the single hope that her girlfriend could save her.

The two tributes were led into the Justice Building, one in full-stream tears, already broken, and the other trying to maintain a brave look although he was obviously terrified as his district partner.

Amelia and Dagan both knew that they will not be coming back from this trip.

To hope was a stupid thing. But it was the only thing that kept them going.

* * *

 **District 4**

The girl was running, wild eyes terrified. The muscular boy was a footstep in front of her, a pack of mutts hot on their tail.

The girl's eyes lightened up as soon as she spotted the Cornucopia. She began to climb onto the metal horn, the boy a heartbeat later doing the same.

"Ridge," chatised his fiancé, Cordelia. "When wil you stop the hobby of watching past Hunger Games?" Her gaze softened as it landed on the small bundle that she was hugging for dear life in her arms. "You're going to give the baby nightmares."

"Oh no," Ridge smiled, fingering his engagement ring. "It's going to grow up just strong and brave and an amazing Career like me!"

"Yes, yes," Cordelia rolled her eyes. "When are you going to get ready for the reaping?"

"Just after this part." Ridge stared into the screen. They were at the climax now; Katniss Everdeen, the girl from 12 was trying to push Victor Cato off the Cornucopia while he was distracted with a mutt. Cato however saw the move coming and deflected it, nearly causing Katniss to slip.

"Ridge..." Cordelia said warningly.

"All right, all right." Huffing, Ridge turned the replay of the 74th Hunger Games off, letting the television screen turn black.

"You'll get to see all you want in the Capitol train," said Cordelia encouragingly. "And when you come home Victor." A shadow of doubt flicked past her eyes, and Ridge didn't miss it.

"Listen, Cordelia," he said softly. "I'm going to come back. Stop worrying."

"Ridge... I- if you- what about our child?"

"That won't happen," Ridge replied.

"Ridge-"

"NO, CORDELIA!" Ridge shouted. "We've been over this a hundred times already. Cordelia, I'm not about to throw eight years of training for nothing."

"I don't want to lose you, Ridge."

"You won't. The odds are completely in my favor."

"Ridge, don't be so _arrogant_. What if someone like Cato emerges from District 2 again? A contenter from the outlier districts like Katniss Everdeen?"

"I can beat them," Ridge snapped. "It's impossible for me to lose." If it had been anyone but Cordelia who had called him _arrogant_ they would already have their tongues tore out. But this was Cordelia.

"I love you, Ridge," Cordelia sighed, putting their baby down gently. "Please. Just... be careful."

"Always," Ridge said softly. The couple stared at each other for a moment, and for the first time a flicker of doubt rang through Ridge's mind _What if I don't come back? What if..._

 _No._ Ridge refused to even think about the possibility. He would come back proud, as the 76th Victor, and he would live with his family and Cordelia and her family and their baby at Victor's Village. Their baby would get the best training they could give him, and they would have a Victor for the second generation.

"Well, are you ready?" inquired Cordelia in her usual voice. The shroud of shadow that had draped over her face hadn't disappeared though.

"For what?" asked Ridge, thoughts not on the conversation.

"The reaping! Ridge, are you all right?"

"Oh. The reaping. Sorry. I wasn't concentrating." Cordelia lightly kissed him on the cheek. "Come on, then. I'm ready."

"It's a bit early, though," Cordelia observed. "Want to watch the replay again? I thought we only had a few minutes, but apparently I was wrong."

"Oh, Cordelia," Ridge teased her lightly. "Don't know how to read a clock?"

"Oh, shut up," Cordelia laughed.

"I love you, Cordelia Waters," Ridge murmured, kissing her full on the lips.

"I'll be Cordelia Cascade soon enough, don't worry." That made both of them laugh.

"I can't wait for us to get married."

"You know how my parents are. They say that we need to wait at least four more years."

"Well, they can't stop us," Ridge declared. "When I'm Victor, I'll have all the power."

"You don't want to get on my father's bad side," Cordelia warned. Ridge stared at her incredously.

"He can't stop us. He's only a middle classer! Our family is high class!"

"If you've forgotten, your parents don't you marrying a common middle classer either. And my father has a lot of contacts around the district."

"I suppose," Ridge sighed. "But nothing's going to stop us. Right?"

"Of course not." Cordelia linked her arm in his. "But I'm just warning you." She looked at him warmly, giving Ridge another reason to survive the Hunger Games.

They could never marry before four years unless Ridge came home as Victor. And even if they did, both knew that their families would throw them out and leave them to live in the streets. They could wait four more years. But Ridge had never been a patient person.

The stakes were high. But he would take those odds. Even if they weren't already in his favor, he would've taken them anyway.

Cordelia Waters was worth it.

* * *

"Well, you'd have died without your district partner."

Vivien Crassly was being insanely blunt again. And from all the things she could choose from, one of her mother's least favorite topics.

Lilith Crassly, Vivien's mother, was the Victor of the 58th Hunger Games but would have died twice in the arena without her district partner, her ally, who at the end had been killed by an outlier tribute. And her mother hated to admit it.

"Viv," said her mother crossly. "I would have survived fairly well without idiot boy. Now be quiet and eat your breakfast."

"Tristan's ally wasn't as nice as yours," Vivien reminded her. "He was at the Final Four before she killed him."

"Vivien," snapped her father, using her full name. Vivien shrugged.

"Well, it's true. He shouldn't have trusted her so much."

" _Vivien_."

During the 70th Hunger Games, Vivien's older brother, eighteen-year-old Tristan, had gambled his life in the Games and had come three tributes before winning the Victor's crown before he had been killed by his so-called 'ally'. It had shook the family and Vivien, but Vivien couldn't help being so blunt. After all, it was true.

Since then, Vivien and her mother's relationship had been kind of rocky. Lilith was disappointed in her daughter, and Tristan's death had made Vivien lose confidence in her family, which included her mother, of course.

Which was why Vivien was going to volunteer as tribute this year.

In District 4, it was rare that anyone was 'selected' as tribute for the Games. Even if they were chosen, District 4 respected the swiftest, fastest to volunteer as their tribute. Not that any fights broke out- after all, this wasn't District 2- but frequently people were falling over themselves to volunteer.

But this year, no. No one was going to stop Vivien from volunteering. She was going to come home in a few weeks as a proud Victor, and the first Victor District 4 had had after eleven years. After Finnick Odair, who had won the 65th Games, District 4 hadn't had a Victor for years. And Vivien was going to give them that glory this year.

A shadow pased over her shoulder, and Vivien flinched.

 _"You must avenge me."_

She looked around, but her family was stil sitting in the dining room. Nothing had happened.

 _Not again,_ thought Vivien crossly. She blinked a couple of times, making sure no one was really there.

Since childhood, Vivien had found herself with paranoia, making her see things that weren't really there. After her brother's death, the visions had enhanced. Tristan's voice had added to the chrous of voices of the visions, always uttering things such as _you must avenge me._ This was partly a reason why Vivien had taken on alcohol, finding little, but some comfort in it.

The 70th Hunger Games had been brutal and bloody. The bloodbath had resulted in fifteen tributes out of running, the biggest bloodbath that had ever been held. Districts 3, 5, 6, 8, and 12 had been out of running completely. It had been held in an open moor with many small hills, making it easy for the Careers to target and kill tributes. By Day 8, only four tributes had remained. By midnight, Tristan had been betrayed by his ally. Vivien still remembered the cannon booming, shock rippling through the whole family that Tristan had just died like that.

Had just died like that.

Their brother and son- one moment bright and cheerful and ambitious, the next moment limp and dull and unmoving. Gone to a place where Vivien and her parents couldn't reach.

"Viv!" roared her father. "It's time to leave for the reapings!" Vivien jumped, startled out of her memories.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Vivien muttered, although not with as much fire as usual.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You sound like a whimpering kid!"

"No, I don't," retorted Vivien, snapping out of her reverberation, getting back to her usual self. "Well, I'm ready for the reapings, even if you aren't."

"Of course I'm ready!"

"Mother?"

"I'm fine. Do I look fine, Peter?"

"Fine, fine," her father grumbled. Then at Vivien's sharp look- she knew that her mother would fuss all the way to the Square unless her father gave a goodenoughh compliment- "You look beautiful, Lilith. Beautiful enough."

"Thank you, Peter," said her mother, fingering a strand of her dark hair. "Alright then. Let's go."

* * *

To Ridge, it seemed like a century had passed before the mayor started reading his damned speech out.

 _Like anyone ever listens to it anyways,_ Ridge thought scornfully. Then he met Cordelia's frowning eyes and softened up. He must've crinkling his face up again. _"You need to look your best to the Capitol,"_ he could hear Cordelia chiding him. Ridge couldn't help but smile. Oh, his amazing, amazing fiancè.

The Treaty of Treason was read out, then the usual video about how the Capitol had taken over the Districts and how the Hunger Games had started, boring Ridge to the very edge of his mind. Then the escort stepped forward, and Ridge relaxed. _Finally._ The Capitolite made his usual one-minute speech, then moved onto the reapings.

"Your female tribute, District 4!" The escort read off the slip. "Cami Cairns!"

"I volunteer!" A clear voice rang out through the audience, before any other girl had a chance to volunteer. Ridge wasn't surprised that the official female tribute from the Career Academy hadn't managed to volunteer as well. A tall, muscular girl with brown hair and a splatter of freckles on her nose rose from the crowd, and stepped forward onto the stage. Ridge saw her turn to nod proudly at what could be her parents before introducing herself.

 _Not too bad,_ Ridge thought, not surprised that the offical female tribute for this year hadn't volunteered. _Although her appearance won't get her any sponsors, she looks tough._ He tuned out the escort's congratulations to the freckled girl, whose name apparently was Vivien Crassly.

"Your male tribute!" The escort cried enthusiastically. Ridge readied himself, and turned to meet his fiancé's eyes. Cordelia's blue ones were full of worry. Ridge could almost read her thoughts: _Don't volunteer. Please, Ridge. Don't._ He winked at her to calm her down- certainly he wasn't going to _not_ volunteer, even if it was his girlfriend- but it didn't seem to work.

"Copland Chase!"

"I volunteer!" Ridge called out. He stepped proudly towards the stage, all the while meeting his parents' eyes proudly and winking again at Cordelia.

"We have a volunteer again, now!" the escort cooed in that odd Capitol accent. "What's your name?"

"Ridge Cascade!" Ridge raised his chin proudly. "Proud citizen of District 4, and future Victor of the 76th Hunger Games!" He sensed the girl named Vivien freeze beside him, her eyes narrowing, but ignored her. The escort awkwardly looked between Vivien and Ridge, unsure what to do.

At the end, the escort awkwardly cried, "Um... all right then! Ridge Cascade and Vivien Crassly, your tributes for this year's Games, District 4! Shake hands!"

Ridge shook hands with the girl, tightening his grip intentionally. Vivien's eyes narrowed, and she squeezed harder until it became a literal competition. The escort sighed behind them inwardly and hoped against hope that neither of the two District 4 tributes had broken each other's hands. They seemed more like the violent District 2 tributes this year, not like the calmer, _usually_ easygoing District 4.

"Well, good luck, Ridge and Vivien! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" The escort cried at last. The crowd gave a loud, approving applause, and Ridge puffed his chest out with pride. His district partner, however, looked disgruntled.

"Viv," the hazel-eyed girl muttered. "You can call me Viv."

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Never mind," Vivien hissed through her gritted teeth. "Never mind."

Ridge looked at the girl with amusement, then stopped a smile. She was going to be dead in a few days. He couldn't waste time getting sentimental.

He fingered his engagement ring, passing his fingers over the two glinting aquamarine stones. He had to get back, and he would do whatever he had to do to do so.

For Cordelia.

For their baby.

Whatever he had to do.

The doors of the Justice Building closed, and for the first time ever Ridge felt true fear. This was it. He was going into the Hunger Games- and he may never come back out. _What will happen to Cordelia and our baby if I didn't come back?_

It was a question that Ridge couldn't answer.

* * *

 **Sorry, the chapter's a little short this time, but I really couldn't think of anything else. My apologies.**

 **The next chapter will be: D5 & D6: The Chased Minds. **

**Your questions for the day:**

 **#Q1: Which tribute did you enjoy/reading about the most?**

 **#Q2: What can I improve on?**

 **#Q3: Which tribute did you think was likely to become Victor?**

 **Thanks goes to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited! Please do so again if you enjoyed!**


	4. D5 & D6: The Chased Minds

**Fast update this time. I hope that makes it up to my previous late chapters!**

 **Anyway...**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: D5 & D6: The Chased Minds**

 **District 5**

In District 5, clear dawn was rare, even in its richest parts.

Being the power district, this was obvious, but it seemed to have granted them good fortune this year. White clouds spiraled across the wide blue sky, and a sixteen-year-old girl stood at her bedroom window, watching the sky.

Courtney White looked out her window, fear steadily coursing through her.

She was a part of one of the richest families of District 5, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't be Reaped. There was still a possibility.

"Courtney, dear!" She heard her mother call. "Our guests are here!"

Quietly sighing, Courtney walked over to the front door. Two Capitolites stood there, smiling stupidly.

"You must be Courtney!" The wife exclaimed.

"We've heard all about your art," chimed in the husband. "You must've inherited it from your parents!" He looked admiringly at Mr. and Mrs. White.

Courtney's parents, Mr. and Mrs. White were artists that were widely popular in the Capitol. They had not been originally rich, just middle class, but at discovering newfound skills they had joined the wealthy class almost instantly.

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say that the Whites were the richest family of District 5. Courtney, as their only daughter, had inherited all the money and the rich that the Whites hd ever had.

Most District 5 children at Courtney's age were working in the factories, already radically poisoned, especially those in the Nuclear Fifth. There were five Sections overall in District 5- the Nuclear Fifth, where the poorest lived and the radically poisoned area, the Coal/Fuel Fifth, the Hydro Fifth, the Wind Fifth, and finally the richest, the Solar Fifth, where the Whites took residence.

Courtney, much like her parents, enjoyed art. She knew that those who held one of the highest ranking positions in the District- like her parents- frequently traveled to the Capitol, and it was her dream one day to go there.

But Courtney, despite growing up rich, pitied with the poor. Courtney was sick, sick of this world and its cruelty. She had always tried to help those in need, willing to contribute her money and time to them. But no one appreciated her efforts.

 _I just want to help!_ Courtney had pleaded.

 _Don't you think we know the truth?_ One of the haggard woman had mocked her. _We may be poor, but we aren't idiots! Now get out before we start to gut you and you start to bleed like a pig in slaughter!_

Courtney had fled, frightened for her life and the things that were at stake. She never went back to helping people, realizing that no matter hard she worked, no one would ever really accept her and her efforts. Instead she spent her days drawing and sketching, at loss of what to do now. She went to the parties that the richest members of Solar Fifth had, met and smiled at the Capitol citizens that were customers of the Whites' art, and she did all this without a word. Not like before, when she had protested every step of the way.

"Aren't you worried you'll get Reaped, Courtney?" asked the wife. There was real concern in her voice.

"Not really," Courtney replied. "My name's only in there six times. Even if I do, I'm sure I'll have you guys to support me!"

"Of course!" cooed the wife. "Of course, of course."

"Well, we better get going," said Mr. White, a well-practiced expression of regret on his face.

"Oh yes," agreed the husband. "Thank you for having us."

The two Capitolites nodded, and as soon as they were out of earshot Mr. White began to curse.

"Those two, demanding to see us on Reaping Day... like we're some servants who they can do whatever with anytime!"

"Well, it's true," Mrs. White pointed out. "We can't survive without them. We owe the Capitol everything."

 _Everything_. The word filled Courtney with slow anger. _We don't owe the Capitol anything!_ The sixteen-year-old girl thought furiously _. They send our friends and family into the Hunger Games and watch them die! And they call it entertainment! We owe the Capitol nothing!_

"Courtney, dear." There was the faintest hint of warning in her mother's voice as her eyes flicked to her worked-up husband and her equally worked-up daughter. "Why don't you go upstairs and try out that black sequined dress I bought for you for your birthday?"

"Ok," Courtney mumbled, reluctantly trudging upstairs while her father rambled on and on about the Capitol couple. Briefly she wondered for the third time that day if she should just run away from home and live amongst the poor.

She shook her head. That was a silly thought. That would mean to doom herself to poverty, to lose the power to feed herself and bath herself. Courtney visibily recoiled at the thought.

 _Anyway..._ thought Courtney bleakly _. What difference will it make? To the world? To my family? To the whole of Panem? Nothing, that's how much difference it will make._

So bleakly Courtney made her way to her room, knowing how her future would be: she would inherit her family's fortune and job when she turned eighteen, and she would be an art dealer, just like her parents were.

 _Unless I get Reaped... and won the Games..._ Courtney shook her head. That was a silly thought. She could never win the Hunger Games.

So here her future was... laid out in front of her... or was it?

* * *

Far away from the Solar Fifth and the residence of the Whites, Anthony Colton stood in the darkest alleys of Radar Town, the poorest place even of the Nuclear Fifth.

"Here, want one?" Xander offered him a cigarette, but Anthony shook his head.

"No thanks."

"Don't be so prissy," said Xander. "What's wrong with you today?"

"It's Reaping Day if you've forgotten. And my name's in there twenty times."

"So? My name's in their thirty-five times." Xander shrugged. "Honestly, I don't give a shit about the Reapings. Even if I'm Reaped, my family will get on without me perfectly."

"That's not true," snapped Carlene, the only girl in their trio. "How will Cassia get on without you? And Layla?"

"Again, they will get on without me. We already lost some family members."

In the 72nd Hunger Games, Xander's older sister, Rosalyn had been Reaped. She had been clever and quick, and had made it to the Final Four until she had been killed by one of the Gamemakers' tricks.

There was a moment of silence, then Anthony spoke.

"I've got to go home. Annabelle will be waking up soon. Then she'll need me."

Mr. and Mrs. Colton were out as usual. As Gamemakers- to Anthony's disgust- they were needed almost full-time in the Capitol and rarely came home. Anthony's older brother, Kaden, had usually looked after Annabelle until he had been Reaped as well.

Kaden and Rosalyn had been District partners, both in the 72nd Hunger Games, and this was what had brought Anthony and Xander together.

Carlene had been dating Xander for a while. She was a high-classer, the mayor's only daughter. She usually couldn't meet them, especially not in this place that was so far away from her home, but it was Reaping Day and everyone was busy. No one payed attention- at least not properly. Xander and she went way back- back when Xander's family used to be rich, before Rosalyn died, before Xander's family had spurred downhill.

"Well, see you later, Anthony," Carlene said. "I hope you don't get Reaped."

"You too, Carlene," he replied quietly, and then vanished into the alleyway. He only had to walk a short distance until he reached the Colton apartment- a small, dirty one-room building.

It was strange why the Coltons' lifestyle had never improved, even though Mr. and Mrs. Colton were quite high-ranking Gamemakers. Their life had always been the same- the same dirty house, the same lifestyle- nothing had changed from their life before his parents had become Gamemakers, nothing.

"Anthony!" squealed a voice. Anthony plastered a fake smile on.

"Bella!"

Nine-year-old Annabelle pouted, her lips out. "I like Annie better. Like Victor Annie Cresta! Do you think I can win the Games like she did? Can I? Can I?"

"Of course you can." Anthony picked the little twelve-year-old girl and spun her around, in which she squealed happily.

"I don't want to die like Kaden though! If I do get Reaped and die do you think I'll see him again?"

"Maybe." Anthony murmured, putting Annabelle down. "But for now, stay with me, my little Victor."

"Where's Mommy and Daddy?"

"Busy, I expect. They have very important jobs, you know."

"Promise me you won't be Reaped like Kaden was? You won't leave me?" There was geniune fear in the little girl's eyes.

"I thought that it was _you_ wanted to go into the Games and be Victor."

"Well, that's me! _You_ can't leave me!"

Anthony softly laughed. "Don't worry. I promise I won't get Reaped." Despite what he had just said, Anthony felt uncertain, like he did every year. He couldn't help but feel that this really was going to be the year he got Reaped.

 _You think that every single year Anthony!_ He reassured himself. _Everything will be fine; nothing's going to happen. There's hundreds of names in that Reaping bowl!_

"Anthony, Annabelle," said a familiar voice. Two people, with bright, fancy clothes who looked absolutely out of place in this dull town stood there awkwardly.

"Mommy!" squealed Annabelle, running to Mrs. Colton's arms. "I missed you!" Mrs. Colton hugged her daughter back somehow awkwardly, while Mr. Colton looked uncomfortable.

"Mother, Father," Anthony said coolly. "I thought you were meeting us after the Reapings."

"We had a slight change in schedule," answered Mr. Colton, his eyes darting to Anthony and back. "We thought you'd be pleased to see us."

"We are!" Annabelle squeaked. "Aren't we?" She looked up at her brother, who nodded stiffly.

It had been up to Anthony to be the mother/father for Annabelle. As Gamemakers, their parents rarely came to see them, spending all their time in the Capitol. Annabelle had never known their parents properly.

"Annabelle, we bought you a new dress," said Mrs. Colton tentatively, trying to break the ice. "And Anthony, we bought you a new suit."

"We don't need clothes, Mother," said Anthony coolly. "We only need a house as rich as your clothes are."

"Anthony..." Mrs. Colton looked close to tears for a moment. "We'll be moving soon. I promise. It's just that..."

 _Excuses_ , thought Anthony bitterly. _Always excuses._ But he let the subject go. Despite all he felt for them, they were still his family, and he couldn't ditch them completely.

"Go and change," said Mr. Colton gruffly. "Then we can go."

"I'm not changing," said Anthony.

"Anthony!" cried Annabelle, her eyes distressed. "Why don't you want to wear your shiny new suit! It's from the Capitol, and things from the Capitol are always good! Come on, get it on!"

"You can," Anthony mustered a smile. "I'm just too tired." He spun her around again, and it made her giggle. "Go and change. We'll be waiting for you, right here."

* * *

By the time the Whites reached the Power Square, where the Reapings were held, signs of festivity were everywhere.

There was a corner labeled 'Magical Predictions', 'Power Drinks!', 'Get Your Lucky Doll' and so on. Courtney couldn't help but think how stupid all of them were, but she knew that her parents would want her to enjoy herself. She had extra pocket money as well, and She had no wish to waste it.

"Courtney!" Sara, one of the wealthy-classers' daughters waved her over, along with her group of friends. She and Courtney had grown familiar with each other over the years, meeting in parties and all that. But Courtney shook her head. She had no wish to hang out with anyone today.

Looking back at her parents self-consciously, Courtney walked over to the stall named 'Magical Predictions'.

"Reaping Day!" The owner shouted. "See if you'll get Reaped or not! Get your worries under control!"

 _What a piece of rubbish,_ Courtney thought as she paid. But the other stalls seemed even _more_ rubbish, if that was even possible.

"Ok then, miss! Let's see if you'll get Reaped or not!" Smiling enthusiastically, the man threw his sticks and watched them as they laid out all in different shapes.

Despite knowing what rubbish it was, Courtney found herself pleading that those sticks didn't say that she was going to be Reaped.

The stall-owner stood, staring at the sticks, and Courtney instantly knew what the matter was.

 _I'm going to be Reaped._

"I'm going to be Reaped, aren't I?" She shakily asked the shell-shocked stall-owner.

"N-no, no, miss!" The stall-owner gasped out the words. "Of course not! Of course not! This is just a silly trick... you're not going to be Reaped, miss!"'

Courtney's heart felt heavy as she walked away. _It's just a dumb trick,_ she reassured herself. _The stall-owner even said it! It's just a dumb trick._

She walked over to the sixteen-year-olds' section as the mayor began his speech. She saw Carlene Winters, the mayor's daughter, behind him, sitting beside District 5's past Victors and her mother. Another 'friend' from the rich kids' parties.

"Happy Hunger Games, District 5!" The escort gushed. "Can you believe it's already the 76th? I mean..."

When silence rang around the District, the escort gave a small, awkward laugh and then quickly moved over to the girls' reaping bowl.

 _Please not me, please not me..._ Courtney found herself pleading.

"Courtney White!"

It felt like fear had numbed her brain.

As Courtney stepped shakily up to the stage, and she saw that the poverty-stricken girls were murmuring happily amongst themselves, happy that a rich loser had gotten Reaped and got, in their own opinion, what they deserved.

 _Do I deserve this?_ Courtney wondered. _No_. She didn't. No one did.

"Anthony Colton!" The escort quickly pulled out a slip from the boys' reaping bowl, and read it out, clear and loud.

Anthony froze when he heard his name. So did Xander as he stiffened beside him.

"I volunt-"

"No." Anthony managed to make the answer audible, even in a hoarse voice.

"What was that sweetie?"

"No!" Anthony said louder. "No, Xander."

"But-" Ignoring Xander's protests, Anthony calmly looked amongst the stage and met Carlene's distressed green eyes.

Focusing on them, he climbed onto the stage and said nonchalantly, "Here. I'm Anthony Colton."

"And the young man who tried to volunteer... your brother?"

"No. My best friend." Anthony provided no more information after that. The escort looked slightly disappointed, but managed to maintain a vibrant tone:

"Well, happy Hunger Games everybody! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The Peacekeepers led the two tributes away, and the doors of the Justice Building slammed, condemning the wealthy and the poverty-stricken to their fates.

* * *

 **District 6**

Thunder and rain raged amongst the empty streets of District 6 as Raymond Kater hurried towards the meeting place.

 _Just great,_ Raymond thought angrily as he ran, covering his head as he did. Jus _t great. It's Reaping Day, and it's a fucking storm._

Just before dawn, Raymond arrived in the meeting place, only to find the three morphlings already there.

"M-m-morphling," one of them cried at him.

"The money first." Raymond held out his hand.

"T-there's three of us and one of you!" stumbled another. "Give it to us, and then we'll g-give you the money!"

Calmly, Raymond prepared to smash the syringe that contained the silver liquid. The three morphlings gasped, and one leapt forward, but Raymond drew the syringe even closer to the hard alleyway ground.

"W-we'll give you the money!" one of them cried. "J-just don't smash that!"

"I won't," Raymond said steadily, "as long I get the money." He held out his hand expectantly again.

"H-here." One of the morphlings held a small chest out, and Raymond opened it to make sure that it contained money. He nodded briskly, and then tossed the syringe towards the three morphlings, who all dived to get it.

He turned a corner swiftly, and then hid behind the alley wall. He began to time: one, two, three, four…

When three minutes had passed, Raymond emerged from the corner and saw all three still bodies of the morphlings on the floor. He smiled, collected the syringe that had contained the mysterious silver liquid, and searched the morphlings' pockets, finding some money. Then he left without another thought to them, as he always did.

He started to walk home. The storm was stopping, to his relief. Rain still razed the dirty grounds, and Raymond saw a rat scuttle over into a sewer nearby. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

As he arrived home, he found his father in front, his eyebrows kneaded together like he always did when he was unpleased.

"You're late, Raymond."

"I apologize, sir. The storm was such a nuisance." Raymond bowed his head humbly.

A few seconds later, there was a ringing pain in his head, and Raymond fell to the floor. He could feel the blood pouring out.

"How many times have I told you? I- DO NOT- APPROVE- EXCUSES!" His father shouted, hitting him over the head with the whip, over and over again. Gradually, the whip broke.

Raymond screamed as a glint of silver gleamed in the faint light. The knife plunged in, and a few seconds later a long, deep slash was engraved into Raymond, who writhed in agony.

"Father… please, pl- AHHHH!" Raymond was cut off as muscle and blood tore from his arm, and as he was flipped over and another long slash was engraved into his back.

"SIR!" His father screamed. "SIR!"

"S-sir, I-I a-apologize. I-I-"

His father flung the knife an inch from his head. The knife landed on a stone wall, and then it clanged to the floor. His father cursed.

"Get ready for the Reaping! You have two minutes!"

Raymond tried to crawl to his feet, but he collapsed on the spot. Blood flew everywhere as his father kicked him viciously.

"YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! CRAWL! CRAWL!"

His father began to form a circle around him, laughing gleefully as he sliced at every part of Raymond's body that wasn't a major artery. Raymond screamed in agony as blood poured from the wounds, not enough to kill him but enough to cover him in red. Hot tears flowed down Raymond's face as he pushed himself towards the entrance of the house.

 _It's a cycle,_ Raymond thought dully as he felt the world spin. _It's an endless cycle, and I can't escape… no one ever can... and just when we think that it's ended, we go around and around... and all around..._

* * *

Sophia Edmonds stood at the very outskirts of District 6, breathing in and she took in whiff at her cigarette. Her clothes swirled around her as the wind blew. The storm seemed to be stopping to much of Sophia's relief, but the winds were still strong.

Oh, how Sophia wished that she was anywhere but here. She could only deal with her mother for so long until she snapped.

"When will you get rid of the damned cigarette?" said Lydia, Sophia's mother. Sophia sighed.

"Mom-"

"MOTHER!"

"Mother," said Sophia, gritting her teeth. "Honestly, it's my choice. What impact does it have on you?"

"I won't have my only daughter addicted to smoking!"

"And why do you care?"

"You'll put our family in disgrace! Penn, tell our daughter what kind of scandalous idea that is!"

Penn, Sophia's father, wearisomely looked at his wife and daughter, and then uncomfortably murmured a criticism of Sophia's behavior: "Yes, yes, Lydia... Sophia, put the cigarette down..." Even an idiot couldn't tell that he didn't mean it. Penn smoked as well, and he had some sympathy for his daughter unlike his wife.

Tired of the lack of support, Lydia acceded and dropped the matter, changing the subject.

"I just hope the bus gets here soon! Otherwise we're going to be late." It wasn't just Lydia- the whole Edmonds family was agitated with having to getting up four in the morning.

The Edmonds lived in the outskirts of District 6, and the way to the Reapings took a substantial amount of time, to be precise, five-and-a-half hours. Then they had to go through the Reapings and the pre-Reaping activities, then the festivals, then another five-and-a-half hour ride home.

It wasn't exactly their favorite day of the year.

Sophia's two older brothers Kael and Oliver had already left the family and had gotten married, both at the age of twenty. They had gotten married off in the city, while Sophia's older sister, Nataliya, lived a little closer to them. This had left Sophia the last child living with the family.

Sure, she loved them. But sometimes Sophia couldn't help wishing to escape from it all.

She had started getting addicted to cigarettes last year, back when she had hung out with Payce and Daira and Colin, the ultmate 'rebel gang'. It had been defiance that had first caused Sophia to start smoking; it was pitiful, four teenagers _smoking_ in defiance, but it was the only thing that satisfied the four of them, and was the only way that they could rebel. All living in poverty, none of them had the courage or the money to take more extreme actions.

Gradually, Sophia had started dating Payce only to lose him in a Peacekeeper shooting a few months ago, just after the 75th Games. Daira had been killed as well, and Colin's family had broken down after Colin's brother's death, going quickly downhill. The last that anybody had heard of them was that they had joined the rebellion-force.

It had given Sophia a valuable lesson: _do not defy the Capitol. You will always lose._

She lived in complete subordination these days, arguing with her mother and only smoking and lighting cigarettes for old times' sakes.

There was a new rebelling gang these days, but Sophia did not dare join, afraid of losing those she loved. She would never dare to insubordinate again, in fear that she would lose a family member this time.

Sophia was the Capitol's puppet, scared of what they would do to her and the people she loved. She danced as their strings moved her wherever they wanted her to do.

She would dance until the end of her life, because the cost of rebelling had been beyond anything she had ever imagined. Sophia had lost her boyfriend, her best friend, and her teammate and his family were never to be seen again.

 _Dance_ , Sophia thought dully. _Dance, Sophia. The Capitol's puppet. Dance._

 _Dance._

* * *

Raymond was charmingly dropped off in the sixteen-year-olds' section by his father, who had already made up the story of how he had been whipped badly by the Peacekeepers. He lay on the floor, bloodied and motionless, unable to move. He was numbed with pain.

The other sixteen-year-olds inched away from him, unable to stand their disgust and Raymond's moans of terror and pain.

Through the haze of torture, Raymond made out the mayor making his speech, and then the Treaty of Treason, and then the usual video. As the video played, Raymond became aware of medics around him, cleaning and dressing his wounds.

They must've been sent from his father, who no doubt, was playing up the 'caring father' role he pretended to be. Not the true monster he was.

Raymond's vision cleared as the medics applied more medicine to his wounds, but more of fear as their escort came onto the stage, offically starting the Reapings. The escort said a hasty hello to the District, gave a short, thrilling bob of how much he was honored and excited to be here- everyone knew that it was a lie, of course. The escort probably couldn't wait to move onto the Career Districts, and get trained, well-skilled tributes for once.

"Your female tribute!" cried the escort. "Sophia Edmonds!"

 _A perfect cherry on top of my shitty life,_ thought Sophia bitterly as she stepped up to the crowd. She felt a sudden hatred for her District- wasn't anybody going to volunteer for her? Hadn't she been nice to all of them?

 _I don't deserve this,_ Sophia thought. _But it's happening anyway._ She walked calmly onto the stage though. She has always known that something would befall her. And it was going to be the Games. The Capitol knew that she had been on the side of the rebels in that Peacekeeper shooting. Not many teenagers had fought, and almost no one had survived. Sophia had been lucky, but the sixteen-year-old girl knew that her luck was out. It was time.

 _I'll see you again soon, Payce, Daira,_ she thought silently. There was no way that a rebel girl, even if she was a former rebel, could survive the Games.

So Sophia climbed the stage steadily. The escort looked confused- most Reaped kids from District 6 were usually in tears by the time they were on the stage. This girl wasn't.

 _Maybe I'll get promoted, t_ he escort thought happily. He moved over to the boys' Reaping bowl, hoping for an equally amazing partner who could increase his odds of moving to one of the Career Districtd. He quickly pulled out a slip, and he excitedly read out:

"Raymond Kater!"

When his name was called, Raymond felt almost every horrified pair of eyes turn to him in the ground, bloodied and broken. The escort looked startled as he realized that their Reaped tribute was the broken boy on the ground.

"Raymond Kater?" He repeated, in desperate hope that the tribute that he had picked wasn't the boy on the ground.

Whispers spread all amongst the District, and Peacekeepers headed towards Raymond, sccoping him up and carrying him to the stage.

 _Please no,_ Raymond pleaded silently. _Please no. H_ e knew that to survive the Games he needed sponsoring, and that sponsors weren't going to bet on him if he didn't act promising in the Reapings. But none of that registered to Raymond as he screamee out, "No. No! It's not me. It's not me... please don't take me... please, please... THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!"

The escort forgot all about his pay raise as he stared at the mangled body of the hysterically screaming tribute. _I'll get a death sentence instead,_ he thought, terrified.

Raymond was dragged onto the stage, body writhing and screaming although he already knew that nobody could save him. He was going into the Games! Into hell itself...

Raymond screamed again, from terror and desperation. He remembered all the years he had watched the Hunger Games: how would he die? Would he be decapitated like the District 3 tribute from the 71st? Slowly die in pain and fire like the District 10 tribute from the 73rd? Evisceration like their own very District 6 female like in the 69th?

"Please..." Raymond half-whimpered in pain and terror. "Please! Somebody!"

"Your tributes District 6!" said the escort cheerfully. "Raymond Kater and Sophia Edmonds! And may the odds be ever in their favor!"

Pitiful eyes fixed towards the moaning Raymond. The whole District knew that the odds were absolutely not in the boy's favor.

Although the escort hadn't told them to shake hands, Sophia leaned forward and shook Raymond's limp, bloodied hand anyway. She shook gently as she could, aware that the movement could give Raymond deep pain.

The two pitiful tributes were led into the Justice Building, one distraught, bloodied and carried, the other staring out at the sky with no emotion at all.

Yes... the odds were definitely not in District 6's favor this year...

* * *

 **I'm so very excited about the number of reviews I'm getting! Way more than I'd expect from a first fanfic! Thanks so much to all the reviewers/followers/favorites! Every single one of them mean so much to me...**

 **I'd just like to give specific thanks to Singlewave and District7axemurderer. They've supported me almost every single step of the way, entering tributes, answering my questions, reviewing almost every single chapter, so thank you so much for that!**

 **The next chapter will be: Chapter 4: D7 & D8: The Chilled Minds. I hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review if you liked it! Criticism is welcome.  
**

 **I'd just like to add that I'll be having a poll in my profile after I finish writing the Reapings. There you can vote for the tribute who is the most likely to be Victor. I look forward to that! Your questions for today:**

 **#Q1: Your favorite tribute in this chapter? (Sorry, I know I ask this almost every time)**

 **#Q2: A likely Victor? (Sorry, I also ask this every time)**

 **#Q3: How can I improve? (Again, sorry)**

 **Thanks to all reviewers/followers/favorites again! I'll try to update as soon as I can!**


	5. D7 & D8: The Chilled Minds

**Warning: Language, child abuse, gore (District 8). Please PM me if you are too uncomfortable with this, and I'll give you a brief overview. You'll miss out on the precise details of parts you're uncomfortable with, but you'll still have the full knowledge of the tribute. District 7 you can read; it doesn't have those things unlike District 8.**

* * *

 **District 7**

Camellia Redwood's day was _not_ going well. And on top of that, it was Reaping Day.

"Mom, are you serious?!" Her ten-year-old sister Maple's scream echoed throughout the small house. Camellia could hear it even from outside. "You are not making me wear these rags!"

"They aren't rags!" Camellia's mother, Daisy, shouted back. "I bought the specially for the Reapings, so stop complaining!"

"Camellia got the shiny silver necklace! I get a bunch of ragged dresses!"

"It was for her birthday! She got the exact same things as you for the Reapings!"

Camellia sighed as mother and daughter continued to argue, all the while fingering the silver necklace that her mother had given her as a birthday present. Irritably, Camellia's birthday happened to be the day before Reaping Day. Her mother had apparently found a extremely cheap, but valuable necklace in one of the District stores, and had given it to her yesterday as a birthday present. It was certainly beautifully designed, a treasure to Camellia. It had one single delicate pendant threaded through the small chain, a flower that Camellia thought to resemble a lotus.

Camellia's shift as a nurse in the nearby hospital had just ended. Ever since Camellia's father had killed by a tree during his job as a lumberjack three years ago, Camellia had been the sole provider for her family. Maple had only been seven then, and her mother had desperately looked around for jobs, but she was always too old for any of them. This resulted in Camellia forced to take two jobs at the age of twelve: a lumberjack and a nurse. One job would not be enough to support the family.

"Stop arguing," Camelia sighed as she entered the house, starting to unclasp the necklace from her neck. "Maple, look- I'll give you the necklace if you want it so badly. Will you stay quiet then?"

"Camellia! That was your birthday present! Maple-"

"Fine." Maple happily took the necklace, Camellia helping her to clasp it around her neck. Their mother sighed unhappily.

"Oh, come on, both of you, go and change into your dresses."

Playing the role of the obedient daughter she had always been, ever since her father died, Camellia nodded and led Maple upstairs.

Along in those three years, Camellia had learned to control her emotions, to keep a straight face even if in the inside she was burning of grief and anger. It had been essential for her survival- and her family's. She had never been much of a social type, even before her father had died. Camellia was glad now that she didn't have friends who were close enough to read her thoughts easily. She pretended that she was doing alright, not happy but not grieved either, going on with her life as a lumberjack and a nurse.

It was lucky that District 7 actually had a hospital at all. Many of the other poorer Districts- for example, District 8- didn't have hospitals. As the Career Districts, 1, 2, and 4 did have hospitals, but most of the other Districts did not. District 7 was lucky enough to have one. Their most recent Victor, Johanna Mason of the 75th Hunger Games, had helped to improve their sole hospital. Until recently the hospital had been tiny, only enough to fit a few patients or so, the rest of the space needed for the doctors and the nurses. Johanna Mason had helped them improve it, resulting in the size of the hospital increasing and cleaner equipment.

Despite what Johanna had done to help the District, Camellia couldn't help but feel disgusted with her. The 75th Games were all right- the only kills Johanna had been responsible for had been Enobaria, Brutus, and Cashmere, and Camellia personally thought they deserved it. The 71st Games however was a different story.

Camellia had been ten then. She no longer remembered the full story of that year's Games, but one scene was painfully vivid to her: the event in which Johanna had decapitated the head of a District 6 tribute. Camellia clearly remembered screaming in horror, and her father- still alive and well then- rocking Camellia gently, telling her that it was alright, that it wasn't real-

Soothing for an innocent ten-year-old.

Not to a twelve-year-old who had lost her father, and had met the harsh reality of Panem since then.

Camellia's hand trembled as she reached for her Reaping clothes, anger and grief rippling through her as she remembered that day. As the oldest child of the family, the mayor solemnly announcing her father had died as a noble District 7 citizen- like getting squashed by a tree was anything but noble- she had received a shitty sacrifice medal. Like _we gave you a sacrifice medal. We gave you a reward. Now get on with your job. We don't care what you might feel._

Camellia clenched her teeth. With much force she relaxed the tension in her body and changed into her new dress.

 _For once, Maple is right,_ Camellia thought, staring down at the murky brown dress. People said that brown brought the green colors of her eyes out. But this murky brown seemed to reflect Camellia's mixed-up feelings.

At the thought of her little sister, Camellia sighed, already missing the feel of her silver necklace around her skin even though it had only been a day since she had received it. She longingly glanced at her sister, who was happily changing into their Reaping clothes, but she knew that she couldn't.

 _Grow the fuck up, Camellia,_ she told herself. _It doesn't get any easier. Family always comes first._

* * *

On Rowan Wintermute's first Reaping Day, everyone seemed too busy for him. It unfortunately seemed to include his best friend Darren as well.

"I am so nervous," Darren rambled on. "What if I get Reaped? You'll volunteer for me, right? Right, Rowan?"

Rowan hesitated. "Yeah. I suppose?" He hadn't meant it to make the last two words sound like a question.

"Promise?"

Rowan rolled his eyes. "Darren, you're acting like a five-year-old."

"Please."

"I promise." Rowan sighed as he rendered. Something told him that he was going to regret making that promise.

"Rowan! The rolls are burning!" His mother called from the family bakery.

"Better go," Rowan said, not waiting for Darren's reply. He smelled something burning, all right. Quickly putting on his oven gloves, Rowan pulled out the tray of rolls, slightly burnt but edible enough.

"Edible enough, I suppose," his mother said briskly, echoing his thoughts.

Rowan had been learning how to bake before he had been learning how to walk. He had learned the scent of a burnt and a unburnt bread from the age of two.

He was whipped when his own product didn't turn out perfectly. Luckily, for a twelve-year-old boy, Rowan was quite skilled at baking.

Yet he couldn't stifle his thoughts about the Reaping. His name was in there already five times, thanks to terasse.

 _You won't get Reaped,_ Rowan reassured himself. _There's a bunch of other losers who will be._

The twelve-year-old blankly stared out at the sky. Years of the whippings the Peacekeepers did and many other rather unfortunate years of hardship had forced Rowan to grow up earlier than his age. Of course, almost everyone in the Districts did, but Rowan was far beyond that.

When people looked into his eyes, they said that they lost track of how old Rowan was. At first glance he would just be an ordinary twelve-year-old. The next, he would be a seventy-year-old grandfather. Rowan didn't know if this was true, but he wondered what it would be like sometimes to be free of all the worries he carried. And they weren't just the Reapings and the Hunger Games. He sometimes dreamt of living in the Capitol, without anything to worry about.

"Rowan!" his mother called. "We need you to help this customer!"

"Coming!" Rowan shouted back, snapping out of his daze.

The bakery was bright and sunny as he entered it from the dark backroom. Since almost all his work was in there, Rowan didn't get much chance to get outside.

"Are you the Wintermutes' son?"

At the curious question, Rowan looked up, expecting the customer he had been told to help, but instead saw another boy about his own age, except that he was much better dressed. _One of the rich brats._ But Rowan kept his reply polite. You never knew if these rich brats could come in use.

"Yes. Rowan Wintermute."

The boy held out his hand. "Aspen Koring."

Rowan couldn't help a gasp. _Koring_. "The mayor's son?"

Aspen shrugged. "If you want it to phrase it like that."

"I... this is such an honor to our bakery!" Rowan bowed deeply. He knew how to deal with rich brats when it came to it. He would have to be careful, though. One wrong word and Mayor Koring would hang him and his family. "Mother!" he called, turning. "Father! Look-"

In an instant, arms wrestled him to the floor. Aspen rolled him over to the darker backrooms, and Rowan gasped for breath.

"You shitty boy," Aspen hissed furiously. "Don't you realize I'm not supposed to be here? One word to your parents and the next, you'll be begging for mercy."

Rowan trembled in fear, but more of anger. _Who does he think he is? Just because I'm not as wealthy doesn't mean that I can't fight._

But he played up the little-boy role.

"Please sir... I-I won't tell anyone! Please let me go... please..." He blinked, letting a tear slip from his eye. "I won't... I promise!"

"And may you keep that promise, Rowan Wintermute," Aspen sneered. "Otherwise you'll find yourself tortured to death." He released his grip, and Rowan exhaled. Anger was thumping through him, blocking everything out. He wanted to strangle the arrogant boy to his death, but Rowan controlled himself. His mask went up again.

"Y-yes, sir..." He whimpered softly. "I-I won't tell anyone that you were here."

"Good. Now, I want a cream pie. Go and get it for me."

Nodding, Rowan scuttled over to the front side of the bakery and pulled out a tray of cream pie. He returned quickly, pretending to cower beneath Aspen's gaze.

"H-here."

Aspen nodded, looking satisfied with him. Munching hungrily on the pie, the mayor's son left, without paying or even a thank-you.

Not that Rowan was expecting it.

Once he was sure that Aspen was gone, Rowan pulled another tray of cream pie and viciously threw it against the backroom wall.

 _Shitty mayor's boy._

He knew perfectly how much effort had been taken into that single cream pie. The workers, his parents, and even some efforts of Rowan himself. He would receive a decent whipping if he was found out. I _suppose I do deserve it_ , Rowan thought.

He sagged suddenly, his anger fading. Throwing the cream pie hadn't changed anything. Nothing would ever change the fact that the poor would always have to cower under the wealthy.

 _Always_ , Rowan thought bitterly. Rowan wished that there was something, something to defeat the idea, but there was nothing.

At least nothing he could think of, anyway.

* * *

After about a five minute walk, the Redwoods arrived in the Oak Square, where the Reapings would take place. Most citizens were already there. It was lucky that the Redwoods lived so close. Otherwise they'd have been completely late.

"Quickly, quickly," hurried Daisy. "Camellia, get to the fifteen-year-olds' section. Maple, come with me. Quickly. We're late."

Her mother stared into Camellia's eyes for a moment, shadowed with a hidden fear. Camellia noticed it and accepted it with a single nod. Then her sister and mother departed, and Camellia was left alone to get over to the fifteen-year-olds' section, like she did every year.

As the Mayor Koring made his speech, Camellia spotted Panem's most recent Victor standing amongst the stage. Clearly Johanna Mason wasn't listening to him either.

Camellia's attention was diverted when their yearly escort stepped on stage. The Reapings were beginning.

"It's a pleasure to be here again!" The escort shouted, a wide smile on her face. It was usually fake, but since Johanna had won last year's Games and she got all the attention it might actually be true.

For once.

"You were blessed with an amazing Victor last year!" At the escort's words, eyes turned to Johanna. "Let's see who'll follow up on her legacy!" The escort moved up to the Reaping bowl, and Camellia, taut as a string, watched.

 _Please not me, please not me, please not me..._

"Camellia Redwood!"

Camellia gasped, and eyes turned to her. If they didn't know her as a lumberjack or a nurse, they did now.

Before any of them could push her forward, Camellia stepped up to the stage, trembling. All she wanted was to scream and scream until a Peacekeeper came up to her and said that they had accidentally Reaped her. But she didn't.

Because somebody else did it for her.

"NO!" screamed Maple. "YOU CAN'T TAKE HER! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! CAMELLIA!" Maple started to rush towards her, but Daisy grabbed her by hand and dragged her away from the stage. Cameras were instantly fixed on them, giving Camellia a moment to compose herself.

 _Breathe in, breathe out,_ Camellia told herself. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, to just ignore her sister while she was screaming for her life. _Family comes first, It might seem harsh now, but you need to get home._

Once Maple's screams had been muffled by her mother, the escort said happily, "So you're Camellia Redwood?"

Camellia took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"Well, very caring sister you've got there!"

In that moment, Camellia would have liked nothing more than to punch the stupid escort in the nose. But she composed herself.

"Thank you, madam."

The lack of enthuiasm slightly dampened the escort's mood, but still she cheerfully moved over to the boys' Reaping bowl and pulled out one of the paper slips.

"Darren Brights!"

Silence.

"Darren Brights? Is he-"

"I volunteer!" A shout rang the air. Rowan stepped forward from the crowd.

 _What am I doing_? He wondered silently as he did. _It's the Hunger Games you're going into. What are you doing?_

For a moment, Rowan was frozen with fear. Then he continued towards the stage, knowing that even if he changed his mind, there was no way out.

"And who are you?" The escort asked. She looked surprised how young their volunteer was.

"Rowan Wintermute." Rowan tried to stop trembling. The escort looked disappointed at his lack of emotion.

But she happily shouted out, "Your tributes for the year District 7! Camellia Redwood and Rowan Wintermute! Shake hands!"

Rowan flinched as he shook Camellia's hand. Her hand was hard and scarred, instead of Rowan's which were smooth as bread with the years of working at the bakery.

The two tributes headed into the Justice Building, and the doors slammed, taking even the faintest strands of hope from two now-broken families.

* * *

 **District 8**

"WORK, YOU BITCH!"

Sixteen-year-old Ekaterina Sacremoto winced as she heard a girl scream as the Peacekeeper whipped yet another.

She sighed as she sewed yet another blue button on the cloth, loosened her grip on it and let it drift away in the control belt to the girl beside her, who would sew on another blue button. Her hands ached, and Ekaterina wished that she could be just about anywhere with the exception of this damned factory.

"Tired?" A voice murmured. Ekaterina turned her head to see her redheaded friend, Claire DeLunar on her left, who sewed the very first button on the cloth.

"Yeah," Ekaterina murmured. "I can't wait to get out of this factory."

"Neither can I, don't worry," Claire replied, blue eyes amused. The two had met at the factory, and as both girls worked beside each other, being the same age, they had become close.

"Shit," Claire muttered as blood welled from her finger from the sharp needle, and blood dropped on the cloth, turning it red. "Oh shit." The redhead looked quickly around, but no one was close enough to see except for Ekaterina and the other factory workers.

 _Like we'd ever tell,_ Ekaterina thought. There was many that didn't get along with each other, but they all had a common enemy: the Peacekeepers.

"I can't wait for the Reapings," Claire broke into her thoughts. Ekaterina glared at her.

"Don't say that!"

"We won't be here in this shit factory, at least."

"It's better than getting Reaped!"

Claire shrugged. "My name's in there thirty times, and I doubt I'll be Reaped. Anyway- AHHHH!" Instantly Claire's expression of no-emotion transformed into terror. Claire screamed as her a long, vicious gash was inflicted in her back. The Peacekeeper behind her whipped her, over and over again.

Ekaterina's hand was trembling as she sewed on two buttons on the cloth, taking Claire's absence. She didn't turn to look at Claire, at fear that she would be whipped as well.

Claire was screaming, her back finally torn open as the Peacekeeper whipped her, over and over again. Dark, red blood streamed from her wounds as she lay on the cold metal floor, lifeless.

The Peacekeeper kicked her body in contempt, and walked away. As soon as his body was turned away, Ekaterina reached out and grabbed Claire's hand, hoisting her to her feet.

"Claire?" she hissed, terror forming in her brain. "Claire!"

Claire coughed, and Ekaterina inwardly let out a sigh of relief. The Peacekeeper had been merciful, for it had been Reaping Day. It would be too late to remove the dead's name of the reaping bowl, and District 8 would be the laughingstock of Panem if their tribute was already dead. Usually anyone who was whipped was killed of the impact.

The alarm rang, and the monotone voice that had introduced Ekaterina to her new job when she had been eight years old rang out once more.

"In favor of Reaping Day, we release all citizens early. The Reapings will be in about an hour."

 _An hour._ Ekaterina stared down at her friend in dismay. _What am I going to do?_

Everyone else was filing out the doors. Ekaterina heard the nunbers being called.

"... Twenty-six!"

"Twenty-seven!"

Ekaterina took a deep breath. She would have to call Claire's number.

"... Thirty-five!"

"Thirty-six!" Ekaterina called her own number. "Thirty-seven!" Claire's number. She saw the other factory workers turn to look at her, but at seeing Claire they each gave brisk nods and turned their heads back.

Once out of the factory, Ekaterina headed towards the apothecary, dragging Claire with her.

"Lacey?" She called into the gloom of the apothecary. A pale, young girl appeared, frowning at first and then seeing Claire. Lacey snapped into action.

"You can leave now," said Lacey quietly as she took Claire's arms from Ekaterina. "She'll be all right."

"Do you need a hand?" Ekaterina asked, reluctant to leave. Lacey shook her head.

"Tessa's here to help. We're fine."

Ekaterina nodded. She was almost out of the door when Lacey called her back.

"Ekaterina? Good luck in the Reapings."

Ekaterina's heart turned to stone. That was the last thing she wanted to think about. But she instead quietly replied, "You too, Lacey."

The pale girl nodded and closed the apothecary door. Ekaterina wanted to scream. The last thing she had been wanted to reminded of was the Reaping.

She trudged back home, her mind full of worries that Ekaterina couldn't all name. But the one that stood out was how she might be never seeing District 8 ever again after this morning.

Unfortunately, in Ekaterina's sixteen years of life, she had never been too lucky.

That was the worrisome thought that stuck in Ekaterina's head all the way home.

* * *

Delvin Dayton's life was hell. Especially when it was Reaping Day.

"YOU!" A drunk woman staggered out from her seat, laughing manically. "GET ME ANOTHER CUP!"

Sighing, Delvin obeyed and handed the woman more liquor.

Working in the drug shops of District 8 wasn't the easiest jobs you could find. But for an orphan, it was one of the lucky jobs.

Or so they said.

The drug shop was even more crowded today, since it was the Reapings. Some just came and went, but the majority stayed, getting crazedly drunk. As assistant to the owner of the drug shop- Callen- Delvin was expected to hand out the liquor, clean the place- as if that was possible- and mostly was the head of whatever went on front of the shop.

"Delvin!" Cynthia, one of the other assistants, hurried towards him. "One of the men are dead. A fight just broke out."

Delvin sighed. People died in the drug shop almost twice a day. The causes were many: getting into a fight, glass shards from cups and windows, mistakes from other drunks... the causes were endless. Peacekeepers never visited this area, which made it even more popular.

"Just leave him," he motioned to Cynthia, who looked shocked. He had to refrain from rolling his eyes; Cynthia was one of their newest assistants. But besides that, Delvin personally thought that she was silly. She always went on about how their lives could be a better place if they all worked harder, and that they should all be thankful for what they had now. Delvin was only thirteen, but he had faced enough to know that that wasn't true.

Panem was a dark, dark place, and the only way to survive was winning others.

"More!" cried one of the drunks. "MORE!"

"I better get it," said Cynthia, hurrying off as she grabbed a bottle. Delvin started to head towards the backroom, realizing that there were only few bottles left on the tray. They needed more alcohol.

He had almost reached the backroom when a hand snatched him out of the shadows. Delvin screamed as he broke bottles and chairs were knocked over everywhere.

"Here's one!" hollered the drunk that held him. "Want to see a show, folks? Here's a whore!"

The crowd screamed in acceptance. Delvin screamed as two of the drunks pinned him down one one of the tables.

Rough hands seized Delvin, tearing off his clothing and flipping him on his stomach as his legs were spread. Delvin screamed for help, but of course nobody came, too scared that they might suffer the same fate.

The crowd hollered, happy to have something to watch as the drunks finished taking Delvin's clothes off and started the event off. A rag was stuffed in the thirteen-year-old boy's mouth to refrain him from screaming.

Hot tears flowed down Delvin's eyes as he suffered the worst accident working in the drug shop during his full seven years there. The crowd screamed in delight as Delvin's still small breasts were massaged by the drunks, and as Delvin was touched, massaged, and fingered in every single part of his body.

Tired of resisting and too miserable to do so, Delvin let the drunks do everything they wanted to do with him. All the while, he desperately whispered, "I'm not a whore... I'm not a whore..."

Overhearing his words, one of the drunks laughed. "We'll have you clothed and ready by the Reaping, don't worry. You make quite a good whore! It's good to fuck somebody again. You'll make good money. After the Reapings, we'll get you started on your job properly. Let the drugs break in your system."

From the drug shop, horrified sobbing of a thirteen-year-old boy could be heard, desperately crying in fear in what was about to happen to him.

* * *

District 8's mayor, Georgia Elstrom, was to the point as usual. She gave a sharp, brisk speech, and then stepped back for the Treaty of Treason, along with the usual video. Next came the part that almost everybody in the District was dreading of. The Reapings.

"Greetings District 8!" Their yearly escort shouted from stage.

 _At least she isn't drunk like last year,_ Ekaterina thought. Last year, back in the 75th Games, the escort had been drunk and had almost stumbled off stage. It had caused immense embarrassment for the District and Mayor Elstrom.

"Let's get onto the Reapings! I could give a very long, boring speech about my predictions for this year's tributes, and how much we should all be thankful for the Capitol- which is true, of course- but I don't think anyone wants to listen to my rambling!" The escort chuckled.

The atmosphere had turned glacy as soon as the escort had mentioned about how 'they should all be thankful for the Capitol.' Cecelia and Woof, last year's District 8 tributes, had died in the Cornucopia bloodbath. Both of them had been generally liked by the whole District, especially Cecelia. Both of them had been those lucky tributes who hadn't had to kill much people. Cecelia had only killed a District 3 boy in the finals, while Woof had been forced to end a District 9 boy's life after surviving the Bloodbath, and had killed a District 4 boy- a Career- at the finals, like Cecelia had killed the District 3 boy. Both of them had based off on survival, and had only killed when it was mandatory.

Meanwhile, their two tributes in the 74th had been killed easily. Too easily. The boy had been killed in the initial Bloodbath, with the foolish girl having lighten a fire in the first night of the Games, resulting in being killed by the Careers.

Ekaterina was distracted as she saw the escort pull out a name from the Reaping bowl, and announced the poor loser who had been Reaped.

"Your tribute for the year! Ekaterina Sacremoto!"

The 'poor loser' was her.

For a moment, Ekaterina felt a spike of horror pulse through her. But soon she realized that no one would really care. Her parents would obviously, but she was sure that they'd get over the matter.

Ekaterina stepped forward, exposing herself first to the cameras before they could find her by themselves. She gave a sweeping glance around her District, knowing that no one would volunteer for her. Maybe Claire would have, but right now she was probably still in the apothecary. No one was allowed to miss the Reaping, but being an outlier District had its pros.

"Ekaterina Sacremoto?" the escort shoved the microphone under her chin.

"Yes." Years of training her voice to not reflect her emotions saved her. It had been a necessary skill to survive the darkness of District 8, and Ekaterina sighed in relief. Inwardly, of course.

"Well, your male tribute!" The escort called. She seemed pleased by Ekaterina's confident mood.

 _It's all pretend, though. But maybe I have a chance…_

"Delvin Dayton!"

When his name was called, Delvin was almost relieved. Being Reaped didn't seem a big deal to becoming a whore for the rest of his life. It wasn't just that- it was an escape from the drug shop, his abusive owner, and the drunks. Delvin trembled as he remembered how they had raped him:

 _"NO! NO! I'M NOT A WHORE!" Delvin had hysterically screamed, spitting the rag out of his mouth! "NO! I-" Another rag was stuffed into his mouth._

 _They had ripped off his rags and had reached in. In. Delvin remembered the cold, slimy hands touching his private parts and-_

STOP!

STOP!

STOP!

"Delvin Dayton? Is he out there?"

Delvin shakingly emerged from the thirteen-year-olds' section, memories of his rape coming back to him full-force.

 _No. Not now._

He climbed the stage quiveringly, not because of the impact of being Reaped but of being raped. The escort looked disappointed at the skinny Delvin, her eyes passing disdainfully over his rags and his messy hair.

"Well…" the escort didn't manage to hide her lack of enthusiasm. Pitiful eyes passed all around Delvin. It was clear that they believed that he didn't have a chance at winning.

 _I'll show them!_ Delvin silently vowed. _I'll come back and show you all! And the fucking bitches who raped me, I'll- I'll fuck you back! I'll show you all!_

"Well," the escort called in a brighter tone. "Your tributes for the 76th Hunger Games, District 8! Ekaterina Sacremoto and Delvin Dayton! Shake hands dears!"

They did. Ekaterina stared into Delvin's eyes, trying to find out what or who he was, making Delvin uncomfortable. He wasn't so sure if he'd want to be her ally, although District partners usually stuck together.

Both of them vanished into the Justice Building, and many emitted a relieved sigh, happy that their families and friends had been spared for another year.

Only Ekaterina's parents and Cynthia were exceptions.

* * *

 **After I finish the Reapings, I decided that I'm going to put a poll up on my profile for who you guys think which tribute (from the whole twenty-four, not just one chapter) is most likely to win the Games. Then maybe your most favorite.**

 **Where are all you guys? I only got two reviews for the last chapter for some reason... please let me know if you disliked the last chapter. Remember, this is a first fanfic for me and I make mistakes. Thank you all so much.**

 **This is just a side note, and it has nothing to do with the story, but I found that writing in different people's POV was really amazing. I usually write in first person, but I've read couple of SYOTs before I started this story and I saw that first person can be slightly confusing. I mean, there are twenty-four people, and with interludes and Victory Tours and all that, it gets even more complicated.**

 **New questions this time!**

 **#Q1: Guess and see what the arena will be. It's sort of (maybe) obvious in the summary, but still...**

 **#Q2: Take a wild guess (a really wild guess) at what these 'Shadows' I mentioned at the prologue are. They are obviously mutts, but what do you think they are?**

 **Thanks so much. Please leave a review if you enjoyed!**


	6. D9 & D10: The Shadowed Minds

**Pretty eager to finish the Reapings... I meam, I don't mind writing them too much but I can't wait until we begin the actual story- the Games, of course.**

 **By the way, this idea of 'religion' in Andrea's POV was inspired from Dante Alighteri1308's own 76th Hunger Games. I've been playing around with it for a while before I read the story though. But it was really that story that inspired me to play it in.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: D9 & D10: The Shadowed Minds**

 **District 9**

In District 9, big fights rarely happened. It had used to be one of the most rebellious Districts before, but after seventy-five Hunger Games, it seemed to had lost its fire almost completely. It was a mostly quiet District, with generally big fights only breaking out once in a blue moon.

Andrea Evelyn Swain had represented District 9 exactly before the fire had occuredx

Quiet and not much of a social type, Andrea's life had been a quiet one. A middle-classer, she had lived happily with her brother and her parents, until the accident stroke.

Then everything had been gone.

"Nox," she quietly called. "Nox?"

"Andrea." Her eighteen-year-old brother stepped out of the shadows, eyes tired. "It's five in the morning."

"Well, you were already awake," Andrea accused him. "So I thought I'd join you."

"Go back to bed. Our aunt is going to have a fit when she sees us."

"I don't care the hell about that shitty woman."

"Andrea, how many times have I told you to stop cursing? And shitty woman? Grace took us in. We should be grateful."

"Stop being such a goody-two-shoes! She makes us polish the house, we have to go and back and forth from the market and back, and whips us if we do anything little wrong! She only took us in for money, and you know it, Nox! We're practically servants here!"

"What the hell is wrong with you, Andrea? Are you saying that you want to run away?"

"Now who's using curse words?" Andrea snapped back.

"Shut up! Just-"

Both Andrea and Nox fell silent as they heard a crash from the western wing of the house. The two siblings stared at each other.

"Probably one of the new maids, being clumsy," said Nox reassuringly. But he hadn't finished his sentence before there was a scream.

"Oh hell," Andrea gasped. "That's Eleanor. The new maid, remember? Something must've happened. Shit."

"We better go," said Nox, grabbing Andrea by the sleeve. "We don't want to be seen."

"No," Andrea agreed. Brother and sister headed to the north wing, where their beds were, from their night time adventure.

"Good night, Andrea," Nox called as he headed to the door on the right.

"Good night," Andrea echoed him as she headed into her own room. She sighed as she looked around the small place. Not for the first time she wanted to kick something.

Their aunt Grace was a rich woman, but gave whatsoever no piece of her wealthiness to anyone else. When Andrea and Nox's parents had died, Grace had took them in, but only for the money. The two siblings were practically treated like servants, expected to earn the money themselves to continue living in Grace's property.

Andrea closed her eyes, and sleep overcame her a few minutes later.

 **...**

"She's dead."

Andrea was already awake in the word _dead_.

"She's dead." She woke up to see a distraught Flora, one of the older maids, sobbing hysterically as she lit the fire in the fireplace.

"Who's dead?" Andrea gasped.

"Eleanor Norton, that's who," Flora sobbed. "Didn't you hear last night, Miss Andrea? The crash."

"We did, both Nox and me," Andrea replied. "We heard a scream as well. We didn't think it was anything big."

"Well, it was." Flora sniffed.

"What was it?"

"The electricity. She was pulling out the oven plug and then... and then... "

"And the crash?"

"The tray she was holding in her other hand."

Andrea sat there for a moment, stunned that a life could end so quickly. She had been four when both her parents had died from the fire, but she had never really seen it...

 _Stop_ , Andrea told herself.

"I'm sorry, Flora."

"It means a lot to us maids that you said that, Miss Andrea." Flora gave another sniff, then seemed to shake the grief off. "It's the morning of Reaping Day. We better get ready. God protect you, Miss Andrea."

The young maid disappeared into the kitchens, starting her day off. Andrea was left sitting on her bed somewhat awkwardly.

District 9 wasn't too into religion. But Flora was one of the few that was. Andrea wanted, _wanted_ to believe that there was an afterlife, a heaven to rest in after she died, to meet up with Nox and her parents.

But that seemed to good to be true.

And if there was a God, Andrea didn't give a damn about Him. God had left them all in misery, to suffer from poverty and grief and the Hunger Games, and the Capitol's wrath. Overall, the Hunger Games had forever broken seventy-five Victors, and so many children had died because of it.

 _Fuck God,_ Andrea thought.

"Andrea!" Grace's scathing voice jerked the young girl awake. "Breakfast is ready! I thought Flora already called you down!"

Leaping up from her bed, Andrea half-mumbled, half-called, "Yes, Aunt Grace. Yes, Aunt Grace. I'm coming."

"Nox is already up!"

"'Coming."

Quickly dressing, Andrea studied herself for a second in the mirror and hurried downstairs.

"You haven't brushed your hair," were the first words that Grace uttered as Andrea entered the dining room. "And you haven't cleaned yourself, either."

Andrea winced, dabbing at her eyes and frantically trying to get rid of the curls in her hair.

"If you don't want a decent whipping, get yourself a pan of bacon and eggs then go upstairs quickly to get yourself readied for the Reapings."

Andrea hurried with her breakfast, noticing the flicks of sympathetic glances from the maids and Nox. They all knew what Grace could be like when she had a temper.

Andrea wondered bleakly where her life would lead next. Her days seemed so long, and Andrea wondered if she would ever escape the shadow of Grace's influence.

* * *

Taylor Ethandale was having the time of his life in the Reaping festivities.

"Calm down, Taylor!" His girlfriend, Marissa, shook her head playfully. "You're way too excited- and you shouldn't be! It's the Reapings, after all!"

"My name's only in there seven times," said Taylor dismissively, and although the mention of the Reapings did dampen his mood slightly, he didn't show it. "And yours six."

"We could still be picked," Marissa warned. Taylor shrugged.

"I suppose. But you're worrying too much, Marissa! We're supposed to be having fun."

"How many times have I told you to call me Leine?" Taylor grinned sheepishly. "And now you look and sound like a ten-year-old. Shiloh! Come over here and tell Taylor how ridiculous he is being."

Shiloh, Taylor's twin, made her way through the crowd, all the while shaking her head.

"It's a wonder how Leine is so patient with you," she told her brother. "She's the only girlfriend who could be!"

"Girls throw themselves upon me," Taylor grinned. It was true, though.

Taylor was one of the rare beauties that District 9 had. With short, curly dark brown hair and green eyes, girls threw themselves upon Taylor, desperate to gain his beauty. Although Shiloh and he were twins, they weren't identical and Shiloh didn't get as much popularity as her brother. Shiloh, however, liked the quiet. She apparently liked it just the way it was for her, something that after seventeen years, Taylor couldn't understand. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar boy rushing over towards the trio.

"Shiloh, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Sorry, Kieran," said Shiloh, not sounding sorry at all. She cast an annoyed glance over to Marissa and Taylor over the back of her head. "Give us a moment. I've been just- er- talking with my brother."

"Like what?"

"Um, like girl stuff. Go and crash. I'll join you later."

Kieran looked disappointed, but he disappeared through the crowd. Shiloh gave a sigh of relief, and Marissa and Taylor looked on in amusement.

"He's like an eager puppy, following me around everywhere." Shiloh shook her head. "I don't mind a boyfriend, but I don't want one that's so-" she broke off as Marissa raised her eyebrows towards the shop labeled 'Reaping Foods'. "Kieran, what did I just tell you?"

Taylor and Marissa both stifled giggles.

"Sometimes," Taylor shook his head. "I find it hard that she's actually older than me."

It was true. They were twins, but Shiloh had been born earlier by exactly six minutes and twenty-two seconds, a fact that she seemed to like to insist in Taylor's face when he, according to her, started acting like an 'older brother'.

"Have you heard about the new fashion in the Capitol?" Marissa asked him, changing the subject. "Apparently the new fashion are the puffy prom dresses."

Taylor wrinkled his nose. "Excuse me? Puffy prom dresses?"

"Apparently." Marissa shrugged. "They want to show as much skin as possible on the top until the top of their breasts."

"That's disgusting."

"To you, maybe. To the Capitol, it's perfectly normal."

"You actually like this, Marissa?"

"Are you insane? Of course I don't. I'm just interested how people could actually like things like this. Did you hear about the accident last night?" Marissa queried, changing the subject. When Taylor shook his head, she asked, "You know Grace Swain, right?"

"The rich woman who lives in that huge mansion?"

Marissa nodded. "Apparently one of their maids died last night. Electrified, I heard."

"How do you know that?" Taylor shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "I mean . . . things like that should have spread around the whole District by now. Someone dying."

"It was all hushed up," Marissa replied. "Even the Peacekeepers were given no knowledge of it. Probably bribed."

"There's a lot of gossip around that family," Taylor muttered darkly. "Didn't that Grace woman's sister die in the big fire a few years ago?"

"She did," Marissa responded. "So did her husband. Their children lives with Grace, though. They survived."

Taylor uncomfortably fidgeted, ill at ease. Talking about deaths always made him self-conscious. Marissa sensed this and said, "The Reapings are about to begin. See you later?" Taylor nodded.

"As long as we aren't Reaped."

Marissa gave a forced, cynical laugh, and then walked away to the sixteen-year-olds' section, where Shiloh was, leaving Taylor by himself.

Taylor wasn't sure if he had meant the last departing sentence as a joke or not.

 _Why did I have to be so stupid and just blurt that out?_ he chided himself. But an odd feeling was filling up his stomach. Taylor had never quite understood the expression 'butterflies were flying around my stomach'. He did now, though.

 _What if I get Reaped?_

* * *

 _Fire. Hot white flames surged up in a twelve-year-old girl's vision, the fire that was destroying everything she had ever known._

 _"Get the children out!" her father shouted frantically from the burning house. Andrea screamed at him to come with them, to escape, but over the crackling of the flames her words weren't heard._

 _"Listen to me, Nox," said their mother, holding her brother's hand tightly than she had ever before. There was genuine fear in her eyes, true fear that Andrea had never seen before today. Yet there was a certain amount of hard determination in them as well._

 _"Take care of Andrea. Protect her."_

 _"Mom," Nox breathed. Her brother's face was pale, pale as snow. "What's happening? First the Peacekeepers, then the poisons, the books on the shelves, the shadowy people that used to-"_

 _"I can't explain now," Andrea's mother whispered. "Promise me, Nox. You have to promise me." Her voice was fierce, and it scared her._

 _"I…" her brother hesitated. "I promise."_

 _"Good." Their mother breathed in, and said the three sentences that would be the last that she would utter. "I love you. Both of you. Stay safe." Then she ran back into the burning house, and Andrea screamed, not understanding. Why was her mother running back into the house? It was burning! It would surely lead to fatality!_

 _Fatal it was._

 _Three hours later, the Peacekeepers found two skinny children clutching at each other, faces sooted with ash and cinder. They searched for a while, then declared that their parents were officially dead. Andrea had not cried. Surely it was impossible! Surely her mother and father weren't dead! How could they be? Her mother, with her lovely smile, her father, with his astounding jokes- how could they be dead?_

 _The two siblings had stayed at the District 9 orphanage for a while, and then it had been announced that their aunt Grace would adopt them- for a price, that was. And-_

 _No._

Andrea gasped as she jerked out of her memories. Red fire flickered at the edge of her vision, but Andrea held to the real world like a lifeline and did not let it go.

When she finally recovered, Andrea was forced to snap into attention. She had missed the mayor's speech, the Treaty of Treason, and the usual video, but Andrea didn't care. What she did care was who was going to be Reaped this year. She frantically tried to spot Nox in the eighteen-year-olds' section, but before she could, her attention was forced to turn over to the stage.

"Welcome to the 76th Reapings, District 9!" the escort started off cheerfully. "I'm sure that we'll have a pair of amazing tributes this year…" She trailed off meaningfully, eyes flickering around at the District. Andrea knew what the escort meant.

Both District 9 tributes had deceased in the Bloodbath of the 74th Hunger Games, as well as the 75th. The District did not care much for the placings- all that they cared was if they died or lived- but the escort did. Andrea felt a flicker of hatred for the arrogant Capitolite.

"Your female tribute for this year's Games!" the escort quickly shouted, realizing the mood of the District. The escort quickly moved over to the girls' Reaping bowl and pulled out a slip.

Andrea knew that it wasn't going to be her. Why should it be? There were bunch of other losers who could- no, would- be Reaped.

"Andrea Evelyn Swain!"

"No." The sound barely escaped Andrea's lips when her name was called, loud and clear across the District. She slowly backtracked, fear overcoming her.

 _What am I doing?_ She silently screamed at herself. _I need to look good for the Capitol! I have to- I have to-_

Peacekeepers broke through the crowd, reaching Andrea. Andrea turned to run, and she did, but not before the rough arms of two Peacekeepers grabbed her from the back of the crowd before she could escape. Andrea screamed, fighting tooth and claw to escape the Peacekeepers. But even Andrea knew that it was over when the rest of the Peacekeepers reached her. Scheming quickly, Andrea made her last effort:

"Let me go!" she shouted over the grunts. "I can walk by myself!"

The Peacekeepers, however, were not fooled.

They had been looking at Reapings for forever, and most of them knew enough to not let the girl go. It was actually quite a common thing, for tributes to pretend that they could walk by themselves and then flee for their lives. They always caught them, but the Peacekeepers preferred not to make a scene.

Realizing that it was all over, Andrea wept as she climbed onto the stage, a mess on the stage floor. The escort laughed charmingly as the pitiful eyes of the District fixed on her.

"Well, well, what a fiery spirit! Cheer up, dear! You've just been chosen for a great honor!"

Andrea began to scream again, as the full contents of what she was going into suddenly crashed into her.

 _I'm going into hell,_ she thought, fearful for her life and the events that were about to happen. _I'm going into hell! And I'm never going to come out!_

The escort was nice enough to wait until Andrea's screaming had died down. Then she moved over to the boys' Reaping bowl and another slip was in her hand when it emerged from the bowl.

"Taylor Ethandale!"

For a moment, there was silence.

And then-

"NO!" Shiloh rushed forward from the sixteen-year-olds' section, her eyes panicked and her usual calm posture completely gone. "YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM! YOU CAN'T!" Her eyes were fixed on Taylor. Unfortunately, this made it easier for the Peacekeepers to locate the seventeen-year-old. They started moving towards Taylor, who was petrified in fear and shock.

"I volunteer!"

Taylor's instincts suddenly came back as beside him Kieran raised his voice. The Peacekeepers stopped, looking confused.

"No," Taylor blurted out. "No."

Kieran looked at him, hurt in his eyes and confusion as well. But Taylor knew that whatever happened, he couldn't do anything that would hurt his sister.

He climbed the stage steadily, hoping that nobody noticed the tremor his legs held as he walked. The escort gasped when she saw him, a gasp she quickly stifled.

"Well dear! You'll surely be a favorite for sponsors!" The Capitolite squeaked, face pink.

"Thank you." Taylor kept his voice calm, void of emotion.

"Well, your District 9 tributes for the 76th Hunger Games! Applause please!" The escort giggled like a little girl as she glanced at Taylor. He smiled back, but his attention wasn't on her.

He and Andrea shook his hands, although they hadn't been instructed to.

"A-Allies?" Andrea had stopped crying, and had begun looking at him with hopeful eyes. Taylor hesitated.

With the results of her actions in the Reaping, it was pretty much guaranteed that Andrea wouldn't get much sponsors. And there could be only one Victor. But Taylor's conscience didn't let him, and Taylor finally mumbled a yes.

 _I'll see how it goes,_ he told himself. _I'll dump her if she doesn't have any skills._

With that hopeful thought in mind, the two tributes entered the Justice Building together.

Unaware that they were just another sacrifice of Panem's gray mortality.

* * *

 **District 10**

The sound of music was heard throughout the shack house every morning. It was a beautiful sound of the violin played, and the remaining family of two was awaken automatically by dawn, thanks to it.

Idoya Meneses considered herself extremely lucky. It was strange that she could be so optimistic.

For sixteen years, Idoya and the rest of her family had lived in poverty, suffering from hunger and all kinds of other diseases. Idoya's father had left the family when Idoya's younger sister, Jemina, had been born, horrified at the thought of taking care of just yet another child. Devastated by this loss, Idoya's family had plunged into positions of the lowest of the lowest.

And then Idoya had discovered music.

It had been everything to her in those days full of hardship and poverty, the days when her mother had struggled to hunt with only a small knife, even with Idoya's help. The days when Jemina had cried, hunger consuming her little belly. It had been _everything_. Idoya had even managed to create a flute as well as a violin, though of scourse not as good as those in the Capitol.

Music was everything to Idoya. When music played in her ears, Idoya was in her own world. No one could disturb her. She could imagine. They weren't in a 12 x 12 shack, with only two tiny beds inside. They were in a giant villa, where Jemina happily play in the woods as much as she wanted to and her mother could relax peacefully on the sofas and she herself could hire a whole orchestra to hear the music. Their father had not left them. He was right there, laughing together with Jemina and helping Idoya to learn music. He had never left.

 _Snap out of it, Idoya,_ she told herself coolly. She had grieved for long enough about her father. It was time to move on.

But it was so hard. The last she had seen of her father was seeing him walk out of the door nine years ago, face set.

"Idoya!" Jemina rushed outside to reach her older sister, hugging her tightly. "Can I try playing your violin?"

"Not today, Jemina," said Idoya gently.

"You always say that!" Jemina protested, eyes disappointed. "Just once?"

"When you are older." Lotte, the siblings' mother, stepped out of the house. Lotte was a typical mom, someone who cared a lot for Idoya and Jemina and someone who worked hard to bring back as much money as she could.

"Fine." Jemina sighed, a regretful look in her eyes. Lotte patted her shoulder, a small consolation.

"You can go play in the woods until Idoya and I are ready for the Reaping," she suggested. Jemina immediately cheered up.

"Can I?" Lotte nodded and Jemina rushed off, eager to be in the woods again. Idoya shook her head, marveling how her morher could turn around Jemina's mood so quickly.

However Lotte's face turned serious as she faced her eldest daughter. Idoya's smile dropped as well, realizing that whatever her mother now had to say was serious.

"Idoya, listen. We're running out of money. We own this shack, but we still gave to pay our taxes and get essential supplies. We don't have enough money to keep this shack. It's... it's a possibility that we may need to be beggars in the future."

"What?" Idoya gasped. "Mom, you can't sell this shack! It's everything for me! Neither Jemina or I have ever lived in!"

"I know," said Lotte quietly. "But it may be our only option."

A desolate silence fell over the two as Idoya realized what her mother was saying. They had to either sell the shack... or become beggars. Without hesitation, Idoya declared, "Then we sell the shack." As much as she loved the shack, she couldn't do that to her sister or her mother.

A sigh of relief escaped Lotte when she realized her daughter had reached the same conclusion as her. "We'll move a few days after the Reaping," she tentatively suggested. Idoya nodded determinededly.

"Should I tell Jemina?"

"No... not yet. After the Reaping, maybe." The worried tone in Lotte's voice told Idoya that her mother worried how well her sister could take the news.

"She'll take it alright," she tried to reassure. "Jemina's nine years old. She won't be too whiny about just moving."

"I certainly hope so." Lotte's voice told Idoya that her mother fully expected Jemina to throw a tantrum. Jemina was usually a sweet girl, following everything that her mother and older sister wanted her to do, but if she got whiny, she really got whiny.

"By the way, Idoya... How many times is your name in the Reaping bowl?"

Idoya frowned. "I'm not sure." Idoya had been forced to tak put terasse multiple times due to the lack of money and the only eligible child, and she was no longer sure how many times her name was inside there. "I'm sure that I won't get Reaped, mom. There's hundreds of people that could be." Her dismissive tone didn't reassure Lotte, but her mother sighed and relented the subject, not really wanting to talk about it either.

"Well, let's get dressed and ready for the Reaping, then."

* * *

Cameron Whittings was scared. Not for the first time in his life, a bully pinned him by the neck against the backalley wall.

"L-l-leave me alone!" Cameron stammered. "W-what have I ever done to you?" It was a pathetic response and the bullies all knew it.

"You h-h-haven't done anything to us, sweet l-l-little Cameron," laughed Aaron, mocking Cameron's stammer. Aaron had been Cameron's bully from childhood, and if Cameron had to list the person on top of his hate-list, it would be Aaron.

It had also been around that time when Cameron's stammering had begun. It didn't matter when, why, or how- Cameron's stammering revealed itself whenever he was in front of a public crowd, with the exception of his family, of course.

Inwardly Cameron cursed. Ever since he had beaten down the other bully that used to bully him as well- Justin- Aaron's group had mainly left him alone. Cameron was a good person, an angel too good to be in the world. He hated hurting people, not even the slightest. But Cameron had taken already every beating, everything that the bullies had ever thrown at him, letting him be their punchbag- and he was tired of being weak.

Cameron didn't like to hurt people. He thought that violence made people weak. But Cameron was out of patience with Aaron as well. His stupid stammering made him look weak and little, but Aaron hadn't had any experience with Cameron's fists.

"L-let me go or I'm going to b-beat you to a bloody pulp like I did with Justin."

Immediately, Aaron's lackeys, Ethan and Austin stepped backwards. Both had been present when Justin's beating had occured. Aaron did not however.

"It's three against one," he responded coolly. "How much do you think you can-"

"What the hell is going on here? Aaron, I told you to meet back home after you had this little 'talk' with your friends. Well, this doesn't look like it."

Cameron releasd a sigh of relief as he spotted Aaron's father, Mr. Dare. A teacher in the a school, unlike his son Mr. Dare was actually quite nice.

"Dad!" said Aaron rather innocently. "Sorry, Cameron was threatening us a little... about what he did to Justin... it was nothing, just a little joke." Behind him Austin and Ethan nodded rapidly, agreeing with Aaron's words. Aaron smirked.

"I did see you two stepping back after Cameron said something," said Mr. Dare, brows creased. "Did something happen?"

 _Yes. Your precious son was fucking bullying me and I told him that he'll go the same way as Justin did if he's not careful._

Instead, Cameron curtly responded, "No." Beforw Mr. Dare could respond, he walked away from the dark alleyway, wanting to get away from it all. Like all parents, Mr. Dare was blind in his own child's faults.

He wasn't supposed to be here anyway- he had been working in the ranch before his one and only friend, Ezriel, had called him over. On the way he had bumped into Aaron and his friends.

And now it was too late to go. The Reapings would be starting soon. He would have to meet Ezriel in the Reapings. He had told his family he would meet them at the bus stop, but even that made him hurry. The bus stop was close, but not that close- still a full twenty-minute-walk.

Cameron couldn't help but sigh when he saw a tattered-robed woman huddling by an alleyway. Her thin, dark eyes looked desperate as she scanned him for food. Realizing that there was none however, the woman resumed her huddled position on the ground. This was District 10- everything stayed exactly the same. The rich stayed rich. The poor stayed poor. And if you wanted to survive, you had to put yourself in front of others. It was to kill or be killed, or to hurt or be hurt. The pressure on Cameron was a little less however though. As an ordinary family, the Whittings had enough money for Cameron to be slightly more generous than others.

 _But not enough,_ Cameron thought bitterly. Like most things in District 10, it wasn't enough. Nothing was.

And Cameron blamed their society for that. If he had been a different person Cameron could've generally happy. He had a girlfriend. He had enough money. He had an ordinary family. It was something that others would kill to have.

But people always wanted more. And as much as Cameron hated it, it was true for him as well. Why couldn't he have the big villa where their mayor lived? Why couldn't his family be rich as well? Why couldn't...

 _Just hopeless dreams,_ Cameron thought angrily. They were just hopeless dreams.

* * *

Idoya desperately clutched her blue bandanna braceler, fear rippling through her as the mayor shouted for the Reapings to begin. The bracelet was a friendship gift from Sabrina- her fourteen-year-old best friend. Idoya liked to think of it as her good luck charm as well. If so, it had worked until now. And Idoya trusted that it would work again.

Calliya Wyinger, their usual escort, stepped onto the stage, her bubbly smile up as usual. Her hair was a bright green this year, making her look like some failed result of a scientific experiment. Idoya couldn't help but wrinkle her nose in disgust. Capitolites had such weird fashion. It was probably one thing that Idoya was sure that she would never understand for the rest of her life.

"District 9, it's such a pleasure to be here! I can see all of your smiling faces, so excited for the Reaping..." the escort simpered. The stone-faced crowd stares right back to her. None of them were smiling.

Oblivious to the dangerous mood, Calliya made a few morw remarks about how excited she was to be escort for the 76th Games and that she had heard that the arena this year was going to be "oh, so much fun!" The mayor finally had to give a small cough, reminding Calliya what her job was.

"Oh, so sorry!" Calliya giggled, moving onto the girls' Reaping bowl. A faint gasp escaped from Idoya. "I'm sure none of you wants to listen to be blabber on and on... anyway our lucky girl this year! Idoya Meneses!"

Before Idoya had even a moment to breathe in, the escort had called her name. Idoya stepped forward, fear written all over her face. No one would volunteer for her, she knew that. Jemina might've, but she wasn't eligible. Idoya turned to look at her sister, who was silently screaming. Their mother was trembling as she put up a hand to block Jemina's silent scream, eyes full of grief and anger and fear, all at once.

Giving to them what she hoped to be a reassuring smile, Idoya stepped forward. Calliya giggled rather uncomfortably when she saw Idoya's skinny frame, all from the days of poverty. Idoya gritted her teeth.

"Well dear! You seem like a tough one!"

"I am." Idoya raised her voice. "And don't worry- I'll come back as Victor! I promise not to disappoint you!" She had no idea where the words had came from, or her bravado. But it did please Calliya.

"Well, who will be this girl's equally amazing partner? Cameron Whittings!"

Cameron froze on the spot when his name was called. He heard a arrogant laugh behind him and he knew instinctively that it was Aaron. Anger filled up Cameron. He was going to his death. The incident that happened in the alleyway started to fire him up all over again, the feelings as well. He was going to his death! And they were laughing!

Angered, Cameron rushed towards his childhood bully, barging his fists into Aaron's face. Aaron looked shocked, not expecting Cameron to fight back so viciously. This realization froze him for a couple of moments until Aaron started fighting back. Luckily for Cameron, Peacekeepers pulled the two eighteen-year-olds apart. Cameron stalked over to the stage, angry at himself now. Why had he done that? His motto was not to hurt people! Why had he just done that?

"You have some spirit, dear!" Calliya smiled, happy to see that both tributes seemed to have some fire inside them, as well as the capability to take care of themselves. Maybe she would finally get to be an escort of a Victor this year. "Your tributes for this year's Games- Idoya Meneses and Cameron Whittings! And may the odds be ever in their favor! Shake hands now!"

Idoya and Cameron did. Cameron couldn't help but flinch when he felt the girl's thin hand. It reminded him of a skeleton.

The two entered the Justice Building, as countless tributes had done before them.

And almost no one had come back.

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed! Longest chapter yet! A little chapter-navigation now that we're only one chapter away from finishing the Reapings:**

 **6\. D11 & D12: The Meddled Minds**

 **7\. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: Part I (Goodbyes)**

 **8\. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: Part II (Goodbyes)**

 **9.** **May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: Part III (Goodbyes)**

 **10\. Towards the Carnage (Train Rides)**

 **11\. Brodcasting Arrivals (Chariot Rides)**

 **12.** **Training Day: Part I**

 **13\. Training Day: Part II**

 **14\. Training Day: Part III**

 **15\. Judgement (Training Scores)**

 **16\. The Capitol's Favorite: Part I (Interviews)**

 **17\. The Capitol's Favorite: Part II (Interviews)**

 **18\. The Capitol's Favorite: Part III (Interviews)**

 **19\. Reflections Before the Games**

 **20\. The Bloodbath**

 **NEXT IS FINAL REAPING CHAPTER!**

 **Don't forget- the poll of likely Victor will be up as soon as the next chapter is up as well. The date I predict for an update to happen is on my profile, but I'll just say it here: it'll be 12/19/2016 for the next chapter to be written. Maybe faster, maybe slower, but that's my prediction.**

 **Please review/follow/favorite if you enjoyed! (Sorry, no questions this chapter)**


	7. D11 & D12: The Meddled Minds

**Sorry guys... quite late update, I know. I don't blame you guys for the lack of reviews. This chapter took longer than I expected, maybe it was just that I just thought this would be it and maybe just I'm a little tired of writing these types of chapters. Anyway thanks goes to all of you for waiting- and here's our final Reaping chapter! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: D11 & D12: The Meddled Minds**

 **District 11**

After losing her father to the Capitol and its Peacekeepers at five years of age, Shellby Patterson hadn't been too fond of the Capitol from the beginning. Her hatred had only deepened when she had lost Rue.

That event had only occurred two years ago, in the 74th Hunger Games. Shellby had watched in horror as she saw her best friend speared by the boy from 1, the sacrifice to Katniss Everdeen's successful destruction of the Careers' camp. It had left Shellby empty for many months.

The fact that she would never see Rue's faint smile again. The fact that they would never play together, not again. The fact that she would take over Rue's job.

Rue's mockingjay song was still heard amongst the trees. But it was not hers. It was Shellby's instead. It still meant that it was the end of the day, but it had another meaning now, to remember Rue. It was the least that Shellby could do.

Two years later, a hardened fourteen-year-old stood in the place of dainty, blushing girl two years before. And Shellby had found her own way to deal with her grief.

The revolt in District 11 was still ongoing, even after two whole years. Rue's loss was fresh in people's minds, as well as Katniss Everdeen's, but the casualties of Chaff and Seeder even fresher.

Shellby had not joined the rebellion, neither had stood against it. With her father dead and her mother sick, Shellby remained the decision-maker in the family. As much as she had loved Rue, as well as her likings for Chaff and Seeder, it had not been enough for her to endanger her five siblings' lives.

Ten-year-old Noah. Eight-year-old Acacia. Six-year-old twins Robin and Liam. Five-year-old Fern, the baby of the family.

No. Shellby could not let them die. She had loved Rue like a sister, but she had to protect her remaining siblings as well. And she was sure Rue would've done the same.

"Shell!" She lifted her head to see Liam pull on her sleeve, his blue eyes big and pleading. Being only six, Liam couldn't pronounce 'Shellby' properly and had decided that Shell was a much better name. Without Shellby's opinion, of course. He would sometimes point at the soft marbles of sand of the small lakes of District 11 and pick out a shell, announcing that it was Shellby with his toothless grin. Shellby sighed at the happy memory.

"What is it, Liam?"

"I want the pretty leaf but Noah took it!"

"Liam! How many times do I have to tell you?" Noah, only ten years old but already looking after her younger siblings, rushed over, face bright with exhaustion. "It's dirty. It had a bug on it, for heavens' sake! It looked disgusting!"

"It looked pretty! The colors were nice, brown and red and yellow and green all at once!"

"It-"

"Ok, shush, both of you!" Shellby called the argument to a stop, acting uo the maternal mother-figure she always did. "Liam, Noah's right. Bugs are disgusting and you shouldn't be touching a leaf with them on. Even if their colors were pretty." Working all life in the fields, Shellby felt no disgust with bugs but some could be poisonous, some actually fatal if unlucky. "Where's the leaf?"

"I threw it away," Noah responded, with a look at Liam, whose face fell.

"Don't worry, Liam," Shellby comforted the crestfallen boy. "We'll get you another leaf, better and prettier than that one after the Reapings. You got that?"

"What if you get Reaped?" Eight-year-old Acacia's blunt words were greeted in silence. Acacia had appeared at the doorway with no notice- like she always was- holding the small hand of Liam's twin Robin, as well as five-year-old Fern.

"I won't get Reaped," Shellby tried to reply in a confident tone, but failed. She had taken out much terasse this year, more than usual having to support a family of seven without anyone else taking it out.

"What if you are?"

"I won't be. I promise."

Acacia seemed to hesitate, but relented. "I'll be getting ready." Shellby stared after her, feeling a prickle of worry. Ever since Acacia's own twin Azalea died when she was five, Acacia had never been the same. She drifted like a shadow. She never seemed to belong anywhere. Her blonde hair and pale skin, opposite from the other members of the family, just proved that point, even though she had been working in the fields for over three years now.

"You won't get Reaped, will you?" Noah was more tactful and she asked in a hushed voice.

"I won't."

"I can't lose you like Rue. I can't lose a sister like May did."

"Don't worry. Even if I am Reaped, I won't be stupid enough to trust anyone blindly."

"Rue wasn't stupid. It wasn't Katniss Everdeen's fault she died."

Shellby stiffened, unwilling to argue with Noah and even more unwilling to talk about Rue's death.

"Noah, we aren't arguing about this now. Go and get dressed, then gather the kids up. Keep a specific eye on Acacia. And..." Shellby trailed off, not knowing what to say about Acacia. Noah nodded, understanding.

"I'll watch her."

"Thanks," Shellby responded, relieved. "I need to get dressed myself, actually. I have to go and ask Mother something."

"What is it?"

"Er, things." Noah sensed that that wasn't it, but she left her older sister alone. She had found out a very long time ago that sometimes, the best option was to be silent.

As she heard Noah close the door of their small second room, Shellby let out a relieved sigh. It would do no good to anybody if they found out what she was doing. Noah didn't need to know how much money could cost in selling drugs. They had been found a very long time ago, in a floor cellar while Shellby had been cleaning. She suspected them to be her father's.

Shellby had much secrets. Secrets that would do no good to share. And she was determined for no one to find them.

Little did she know, secrets never stay hidden.

* * *

 _"NO! NO! LISTEN TO ME!"_ Kestrel Vallory desperately covered his ears, wanting to block it all out.

 _"NO! LISTEN-"_

"SHUT UP!" Kestrel roared. "SHUT UP! I'M NOT GOING TO LISTEN TO YOU ANYMORE! YOU TOOK HAZEL AWAY FROM ME! WHERE IS HAZEL?"

"Oh shit." Beside Kestrel's insanely screaming, one of the newer boys awoke, cursing rapidly. "It's fucking three o' clock in the morning!"

"He's crazy, what did you expect?" asked one of the older boys, who had woke up as well. "He's mad as shit. Leave him."

"I'M NOT CRAZY!" Kestrel screamed, lunging for the older boy who leapt backwards. "TAKE THAT BACK YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

"Told you," the older boy said coolly as Kestrel banged against the bars of his bed. The orphanage Peacekeepers had been forced to put them there, following two major injuries and one minor.

The new boy shook his head and lay over, putting hands over his ears as he did. Kestrel screamed again, but this time in a more tentative voice, feeling ignored and hurt.

"What did I do wrong? Are... are you ok?"

"Shut the fuck up," the new boy sat up. "Hell, he's bestial."

"He's more than an idiot, you should stay away from him," warned the older. Kestrel laughed hysterically and reached again for the boy, his fingers just missing the boy's throat. If he could just reach it...

"He's just destinied to be a whore. Some whore for a pretty Capitolite to have sex on. I feel sorry for anyone who would take him though. Probably he's gonna scratch her eyes out." This made Kestrel scream again, causing more boys to wake up and the older boy to shout louder.

"Get back to bed!" He called. "I'll deal with this fucking idiot." Grumbling and moaning, with tosses and turns to block themselves from the screams, the rest of the orphanage boys lay back down, having dealt with this many times before.

"Y-you are a pussy!" Kestrel screamed. "I'm not crazy! It's because of you that no one likes me!"

"Face it, shitty boy," said the other coolly. "You are insane. Your sister is dead. You killed her in one of your 'fits', apparently. Dr. Hover told me everything. Hazel Vallory is dead because of you."

"Shut up! My sister's in heaven! She's not dead! I didn't kill her, a Peacekeeper did!"

"Stop lying. You know the truth."

"Fuck you!" Kestrel roared, straining to reach the boy. The older boy kicked him viciously instead, causing a fury of pain to errupt in Kestrel's wrist.

"Shut up and get back to bed! Or you'll be in the Torturer tomorrow!"

"I- DON'T- CARE!" Kestrel screamed. The other boy shook his head and turned back to the newer boy, who was watching, one eye open, with a newfound fear.

"Get the Peacekeepers. I'm not dealing with this kid anymore."

"No!" Kestrel's voice suddenly turned desperate. "No! Please... not Peacekeepers... it's ok now. I won't scream anymore! I'll be a good boy. Promise."

The boy hesitated, looking between Kestrel and the older accomplice.

"Get them," the older ordered. The newer inched towards the door, cautiously looking at Kestrel.

"Please..." Kestrel pleaded. "Please..."

"My name is Barry," said the older boy, sighing. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Please don't call them... I'm sorry that I was a bad kid! I'll be good now."

"He's batshit insane," Barry muttered to the younger boy, quiet enough to be missed by Kestrel. "If you scream again, I'll call the Peacekeepers." He raised his voice. "You've got that?"

Kestrel nodded. His hands gripped the bed bars tightly. As Barry passed his bed, all hell broke lose at once.

The bars were broken. Kestrel lunged forward, slashing Barry's face. Barry screamed as blood trickled down his face.

"I'll show you! I'll show you!" Kestrel yelled in bloodlust and triumph as he slashed down Barry's face, over and over again. "I'll show you who's boss here!"

"I'll get t-the Peacekeepers!" the new boy cried, rushing to the door. Kestrel cursed.

"The little vermin. Come back here!" Tearing his hands from Barry's face, Kestrel rushed after the boy, catching up easily with his long legs. The boy cried out in fear as Kestrel smashed his head against a door frame, over and over again. Kestrel continued this in bloodlust and adrenaline before he realized that the boy's screams had stopped. Nothing more of the back of his head remained but a bloody pulp.

Kestrel laughed madly and rushed back into the dormitory, not quite ready to get back to bed.

"Ok gentlemen!" He laughed as he came upon the dormitory. "Who's ready to die next?"

* * *

It wasn't an easy thing to round all the kids up for the Pattersons. As their mother was sick enough for the Peacekeepers to allow her to remain home, it was up to Shellby to gather them all up and take them to the Reapings. Therefore Shellby had to trust ten-year-old Noah to take care of the rest of her siblings until the Reapings ended.

"Shellby, how are you?" Her one and only friend now that Rue was gone, Alicia rushed over, spotting her in the midst of the fourteen-year-olds.

"Not doing well," Shellby responded grimly. Alicia had lost her mother from leukemia five years ago, her father as well, but she had an older sister who was currently nineteen. It wasn't up to Alicia to have the burden of taking care of the family.

"How's your mother?"

"The doctor says that there's no hope." Shellby's reply was bleak.

"He's a backalley doctor," Alicia warned. "You can't trust him."

"I know," Shellby sighed. District 11 had no proper hospitals, meaning that there were only backalley doctors like their own or apothecaries. Shellby would have actually preferred the apothecaries but the nearest one was five hours away.

"Welcome to the 76th Reapings, District 11!"

 _Don't think of the Hunger Games. Think about good things._ There were, however, very rare happiness in District 11. And Shellby's life had spurred completely downwards after her father's death, nothing else.

 _Rue,_ she suddenly thought. There were plenty of memories associated with her best friend. A cascade of memories passed before her:

Rue, singing her little mockingjay song from the top of that tree. A burst of laughter that was quickly stifled as one of the younger workers suddenly had a cascade of apples on his head. Rue, sharing a rare treasure of hazel nuts earned from a hard month's work with the Pattersons. Rue... Rue... Rue.

The escort gave the usual announcement of the Capitol's glory and the 'honor' of the Hunger Games, blah, blah, blah. Then she called happily, "I suppose we're all excited for our tributes. Well, I don't want to keep you waiting any longer!"

Shellby's heart rate increased rapidly. She wouldn't be Reaped. She wouldn't be. Sure, her name was in there eight times more than others, but she wouldn't be! She would get lucky, for once! But Shellby had never been very lucky.

"Shellby Patterson!"

When her name was called, Shellby almost fainted on the spot. It wasn't possible. Why her? Why her?

It wasn't her. There was a bunch of Shellby's in District 11. It couldn't be her.

"Um... Shellby Patterson?"

This time she heard it clear and loud. Shellby let out a small sob of despair before the cameras spotted her, stepping forward. Alicia, her last hope, wasn't volunteering. _So much for friends,_ Shellby thought bitterly as she climbed the stage.

"Hello!" The escort cried happily, happy to see that Shellby at least looked capable.

"Hello." Shellby repeated back.

"I suppose you are looking forward to the Games already?"

Shellby couldn't believe anyone could be do crazy as to ask her if she wanted to go to her doom. At that moment, Shellby would have liked nothing better than see the escort in a bloody pulp.

"Of course I am!" Shellby responded though, trying to sound good for the Capitol. The escort was happy with this and moved over to the boys' Reaping bowl, pulling out a slip and reading it out with enthusiasm.

"Kestrel Vallory!"

Almost at once, a hysterically laughing boy emerged from the eighteen-year-olds' section. The escort looked disturbed as he climbed the stage.

 _More people to kill!_ Kestrel thought excitedly. He was going into the Hunger Games! And he was going to kill them all!

"Your tributes for this year! Shellby Patterson and Kestrel Vallory!" The two tributes shook hands, Shellby gasping in fright as she did and Kestrel laughing maniacally, thinking about all the methods he could kill the girl in.

The two tributes entered the Justice Building, leaving District 11 behind them. What would be forever.

* * *

 **District 12**

Days as a beggar and a thief had many opportunities. But to a seventeen-year-old Cassia Wells, the best opportunity was Reaping Day.

She huddled in the corner, like she always did, not being fond of attention. When both her parents had deceased in a coal mine explosion, in the same explosion Katniss Everdeen had lost her parents in, Cassia had ran away. She had no wish to stay in the District orphanage, preferring to live her life as a beggar or even a thief compared to it.

District 12 had come so close to victory the year before the last. But when Peeta Mellark died from infection and Katniss Everdeen dead just one step from Victor, the District had fallen back into the dust. Cassia remembered clearly how high spirits the whole District had had, eager to see one of their own tributes- not Careers, not others- coming home at last. And then with the loss of Haymitch Abernathy in the 75th, with no Victors, District 12 had fallen to a level that would be almost impossible to recover from.

As much as Cassia wanted to forget it, there was that one moment while watching Peeta die when her emotions had almost broken free. As much as she wanted to deny it, Cassia had known Peeta.

Their past together was beyond complicated, and although they have never been 'friends', somehow they still managed to maintain a certain connection.

 _Hope_. Cassia remembered her sister, who had known Peeta much better. There was no use though. Hope was dead and gone.

Such a futile name in the hell of the world that was Panem.

Her twenty three year old sister had changed her name to Hope when she had turned eighteen, when she had become eligible to change her name. Hope had always detested her name- Iona- and had changed it, saying that maybe a little hope was what this world needed. Cassia had called her an idiot. Where was the hope in this world? People died from starvation almost every night. Two innocent children were Reaped and sent to their deaths each year. So where was this magical strand of hope that would apparently save them all?

"Somewhere," Hope would say. "Have some hope, Cassia. I know that a lot of times, it seems impossible to hope. But-"

"You have a lot to live up to," Cassia would interrupt. "Why don't you just stick with Iona?"

"Someday," Hope would promise, causing Cassia to snort. "Maybe someday, you'll understand."

 _Maybe someday,_ Cassia mused. _And now you're gone._

Hope had one day been seen by Peacekeepers while coming back from hunting in the woods. Peacekeepers usually let it go, but ever since Head Peacekeeper Thread, everything had changed. The Hob had been burnt down. Rules were harsher. Whipping was daily.

They had all left Cassia. No one remained. No one could she trust.

Despite the poverty she suffered from, Cassia had not taken out terasse that year. Begging and thieving was better than going into the Hunger Games. Therefore her name was only in the Reaping bowl seven times, but it still made her nervous. In the 73rd, two rich merchant brats had been Reaped from the District. They had died in the Bloodbath.

 _I_ _won't_ _be_ _Reaped_ , Cassia reassured herself. _I_ _won't_ _be_.

But a single, tempting possibility was inside her head, causing her to think... no... it wouldn't work...

Becoming Victor. It would mean an escape from her life, her days as a beggar and a thief. She would never have to try and solicit pity from others again. She would be rich. Rich as hell. For a moment Cassia almost considered volunteering, but almost immediately she shot down the idea.

How could she win the Hunger Games? There were the life-trained Careers, the sneaky and stealthy tributes, then the tough ones that just came out and fought it all. Cassia had exactly zero of these skills.

She found herself writing _Cassia Was Here_ on the wall with the treasured blue pen that her dead sister had gave her, so many years ago. She liked doing that, liked that she had been there and she had bestowed a mark, a proof that she really had been there, upon it.

Cassia quickly dropped the pen back into her pocket as she saw a Peacekeeper come by, retreating back into the shadows. The Peacekeeper passed her without noticing her. That was how Cassia was- she could stand somewhere for ages and no one would ever notice her.

Quickly slipping back out to the light, Cassia purposedly brushed against a woman, smiling apologetically while she quickly unclasped her golden bracelet, slipping it into her pocket. Despite being the poorest District of Panem, the rich were rich.

And so Cassia believed that it would continue. The rich would stay rich. The poor would stay poor. And nothing would ever change her life...

* * *

Far away, a short, dark-haired boy huddled in the corner of the electric fence, flinching as he heard it sizzle.

Nico Forrest hadn't always been so dark.

"Nico! Nico!"

Stifling a sigh, Nico tiredly asked, "What is it now, Amilya?" The six-year-old smiled happily as Nico responded.

"Why's Reaping Day so special?"

"Because the Capitol says so," Nico muttered under his breath. Straightening up, Nico replied, "It's because of the Hunger Games."

"Why are the Hunger Games so special?"

"I don't know, Amilya. Go and ask mom."

"I did. She didn't say anything."

Nico sighed again, causing Amilya to look crest-fallen at him. "The Hunger Games are important," he explained, "because the Capitol likes it."

"What's the Capitol?"

"You know that pink-haired lady that comes every year?" Amilya nodded. "Her name is Effie Trinket. And she's from the Capitol."

"So the Capitol is weird."

"Yeah... I suppose. Don't say that in front of others though."

"Why?"

"Just do it." Nico wasn't willing to explain it all so detailedly to a six-year-old..

"Was Ashlyn in there? The Hunger Games." Nico's heart lurched.

"No. She's dead, Amilya! Just leave it alone, ok? You got that?"

"But-"

"Amilya!" At Nico's unusually stern look, Amilya became quiet. Sighing once more, Nico muttered, "Look. I'm sorry I shouted. But leave the subject of Ashlyn alone, ok? Can you do that for me?"

"Ok," Amilya responded happily, cheering up almost at once. "Are we going to go tp the Reapings now?"

"Mom's not ready," Nico replied, with a glance at their house.

Life in the Seam was not the easiest one could wish for. Even in District 12, the Seam was considered the poorest. The Forrests' house was half-painted with grayish white cement, with an unbalanced roof that creaked in the night, as well as the cracks that covered the entire place. The house did nothing to protect them at winter, when snow would cover the grounds and when the freezing wind would blow throughout the whole District. Their original windows had broken apart, and were currently covered with nothing but spare blankets or clothes.

Things had only gotten worse when Ashlyn, the oldest child of the family, had been Reaped for the 72nd Games. After both Ashlyn and her district partner's death in the Bloodbath, their father had resigned to morphling and drugs while their mother did nothing but lie down and sleep everyday. Nico had been forced into the position of the head of the family and had started thieving for food, with no other option left.

"Nico."

Nico stood up, realizing that it wasn't Amilya speaking. "Yancey."

"Nico. You have to listen to me now."

"Yancey, I've already told you my answer."

"There's a good place for Amilya, where she can be fed and clothed well! She would be happier, and so will you, Nico."

"I'm not sending her away."

"You're fucking thirteen years old, Nicholas Forrest. How much do you think you can do?"

"Enough!"

"Your family is starving to death. You're stealing as well as hunting in the woods, risking capture from Peacekeepers. Remember Hope Wells?"

"Hope-"

"-is now dead. As your friend, Nico, I'm not letting that happen."

"I don't need friends. Friends just betray and kill you."

Yancey stared at him for a moment, a wide, dark-eyed stare, saying nothing. Nico instantly knew he had made a mistake. Before he could say something, say anything, Yancey turned away and stormed back to his house. Nico was left sighing after him.

Being best friends since they were eight, Yancey and Nico had been best friends ever since they had met. But their friendship was cracking apart now, after five years of starvation and Nico's loyalty to his family.

 _I don't regret it though,_ he realized bleakly. Yancey would be better off staying away from him. So would everyone else.

He would never send Amilya away, no matter how he starved himself. He would work hard, harder than ever and win this opponent of starvation. He would show everyone effort could do anything. He would show everyone that against all odds, the Forrest family had recovered.

He had promised his father years ago, when he had left them all forever. At the age of seventeen, his mother sixteen, pregnant with a child, he had never been able to look after Nico. When Amilya had been born, his father had thrown his hands up and had walked out of the house. But not before he had made Nico make a promise.

It had made Nico furious a while after, when he had been old enough to understand. His father expected _him_ to look after the whole family? Him, a scared, shy boy who had absolutely no talent at all? Him?

But now Nico had no choice but to do so. It was what he wanted so badly as well, after all.

"Amilya!" He called to his sister with a not quite light heart. "Reapings. Time to go."

"Coming!" Amilya squeaked from the back of the house. "What about mom?"

"She'll be coming as well," replied Nico. The Peacekeepers of 12 didn't count mental disorder as an excuse to miss the Reaping.

"But she's sick!"

"JUST LISTEN TO ME, AMILYA!" Nico shouted, Amilya flinched, taking a couple of steps back. _That's the second time this morning,_ Nico realized too late. _Bad move, boy._

N-N-Nico?" Amilya's trembly voice caused Nico to flinch as well. "I-I'm sorry." Nico turned away, face dark. "I'm sorry for being such a b-bitch." It caused Nico to stiffen.

"You aren't a bitch," he said sharply. "You aren't."

Amilya failed to nod however, causing Nico to breathe faster.

How long would this continue before the fragility of the situation shattered?

* * *

Cassia took a deep breath in the seventeen-year-olds' section, eager for the Reapings to be over with. Though at the same time she was afraid. Afraid that after a few hours, she would be leaving District 12 behind forever.

 _Do I really care though?_ She wondered as the mayor's speech began. _No... No. Not really. What do I have left here? Just dust and shit. Just... dust and shit._

"Welcome to the 76th Reapings, District 12." Effie Trinket's monotone voice rang throughout the hollowness of it all. Ever since the 74th Hunger Games, Effie had not been herself. Some said it was losing both Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen so close to victory; District 12 had not made it so far for almost a decade. Some said it was losing Haymitch Abernathy in the 75th, who Effie had grown, despite their rivalry, accustomed with.

"And now for our female tribute," Effie announced dully, fishing out a name from the girls' Reaping bowl. "Cassia Wells!"

For a moment, alarm rang through Cassia's body. She had been Reaped. She was going into the Hunger Games! She was going to die! Then calm came over her. No one would care. No one would. Maybe this was her chance to change her life. Maybe... just maybe, she would come back, and have her happily ever after. Wasn't that what she deserved? With that hopeful thought in mind, Cassia climbed the stage, confidence radiating from her. Effie thanked Cassia for her cooperation, moving over to the boys' Reaping bowl.

"Nicholas Forrest."

 _No_. When Nico heard his name, he knew he couldn't afford to panic. He could scream and sob and cry and shout. But what good would that do? It wouldn't help him. In fact, it would take away sponsors and lower his chances of surviving the arena. So as calmly as Cassia had done, Nico revealed himself from the crowd and climbed the stage quickly but steadily. Effie then announced them the tributes of the 76th Games, and then told the two to shake hands.

"I suppose shit just got real," said Cassia as she did, rather calmly for someone who would be going to their death very soon. "Cassia Wells. Pleasure to have your accquaintance." It seemed strange to be so friendly. She had never been much of the outgoing type.

"You've learned proper manners," Nico remarked. "Although you're obviously from the Seam."

"Like you," Cassia pointed out.

"I suppose. Nicholas Forrest. But you can call me Nico."

"Nico," Cassia echoed. "Nice name."

The two smiled at each other, and it was clear that a bond was already forming between them. They were then hurried over to the Justice Building, both of them calm, too calm for people who would be dead in a few days.

* * *

 **Please follow/favorite/review! Remember- the likabale Victor poll is up! Go and vote!**


	8. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: I

**MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT! Well not that major, but anyway, my computer backfired and deleted the Victor poll. Sorry guys, if you've already voted you'll have to vote again... I changed things up a little though, since people seemed to find it hard choosing only one. So I made it that you can choose five. So please go and vote!**

 **Also I was going to have three goodbyes chapters buf I sort of changed my mind. District 6 POV is also a little short, sorry, I'll make it up somehow...**

 **Read and review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: Part I**

 **District 1**

When her parents burst into the room, just after the mayor and company, Victoire was extremely relieved to see them. The events of the Reaping had upset and shocked her badly and what she needed was some comfort.

"Victoire!" Her mother cried, eager and proud to see her daughter, now a Hunger Games tribute. Victoire hugged her mother back, smiling as well, but anyone could see that she was distracted.

Her father, meanwhile, was slightly more composed. He gave a small cough as Victoire and her mother continued their rather awkward hug, breaking them apart.

"Nate, be a little appreciative!" Jade cried, exasperated with her husband.

"I am appreciative," insisted Nate. "And I'm proud of you, Victoire. But as happy as I am, we... need to talk about your little 'problems'."

Victoire nodded, glad that her father had brought the subject up.

"Your District partner will be a problem. For all I've experienced over the years, the other Careers won't accept him into their ranks."

"Father-"

"Victoire, listen to me. He is a danger in your current status. To be blunt, you must 'dump' him."

Victoire scoffed. "Chant Paquet, a danger? I still don't understand. Why didn't Braxton volunteer?" The two parents exchanged glances.

"For some... _complicated_ reasons," Jade responded evasively. Victoire, realizing that she could extract no more information about Braxton's change of mind, instead switched to other priorities.

"He could be useful," she pressed. "In other years, tributes that had a pretend of a weak mind won by fooling others."

"We've known the Paquet family for ages, Victoire," Jade replied. "And let us tell you this- the boy has no skill at all."

For the remaining two minutes, time passed quickly. Victoire's parents kissed their child when their time was up and wished her luck. Then Jasper entered the room.

"Congratulations," he said softly, a wide smile starting to take his face.

"Thanks."

"Listen- about Chant-"

"My parents just gave me an essay on about how I should avoid him," Victoire responded in a monotone. "Please don't tell me I have to endure you as well."

"The same Victoire." Jasper's voice hinted at a light amusement. "Even as a Hunger Games tribute. But that wasn't what I was going to say." Victoire raised her eyebrows. "I was going to suggest that you give him, at least, a chance."

A relieved sigh emitted from Victoire, causing Jasper to blink.

"Exactly what I was thinking."

"Honest? I thought you wouldn't like it. I mean, our dear ruthless, skilled, intelligent Victoire-"

"Oh, stop it!" Victoire groaned lightly. Soon enough their time was up and all Jasper said last as he was hauled out of the door was "Be brave."

Trainers from the Academy followed, each offering congratulations on her performance at the Reaping or some last-minute advice for the Games. The people that followed them were not essentially neither friend or family. They were only eager to see their newest tribute of the year. This was only proved when a trio of well-dressed eight-year-old boys entered the room, shouting about how they had seen her and how they all had a massive crush on her.

As she neared the end of her goodbyes, after much conflict, Victoire had decided to give Chant a chance, against her better judgement. Not two, not three, though. One.

If he failed her test... well, then Victoire would have no problem _eliminating_ him from the game.

* * *

Chant's parents knew something massive had gone wrong in their child the instant they entered the room.

Chant was pale, stark pale and trembling. His hands were laced together and laid on his lap, which he _never_ did. A moment of silence passed as Brandi and Shane gazed at their child, gaze filled with concern and worry and grief, all at once. Chant found it uncomfortable however.

"Victoire," Shane started off the conversation. "She's your only chance. You _must_ get into the Career alliance, Chant. That's your only hope for survival. And you can't do it without her."

"Victoire?" Chant asked weakly. "She hates me."

"Well, you'll have to change that opinion of hers," said Brandi, trying to sound optimistic for his son. "You are quite a charmer, Chant."

"She hates me," Chant repeated, louder. "She hates me like hell."

"Oh, Chant." His mother embraced Chant, a rare show of affection. Chant, to his credit, felt rather soothed more than being embarrassed.

"Mom, Dad..." He trailed off, finding it slightly awkward. "Could you leave now?"

Both parents stared at him in shock. It could be the last time they would see each other ever again! The next time they would see him, he would be in the hands of the Capitol! He would be getting ready to enter a carnage! But then Brandi, sensible as he was, touched a hand to his distressed wife's shoulder and led her out of the private room.

"Good luck, Chant," Brandi softly uttered before he left. "We love you. Please remember that." Then they were out and gone, for what would be the last time ever.

Chant sat in silence for a moment, relieved that they were gone. Despite knowing it may be the last time ever he saw them, what Chant needed right now wasn't fussing over.

The door opened, and Chant mustered a smile as he saw his two friends dart in.

"Hermes. Price."

"Chant..." Hermes hesitated. "We're sorry that this happened to you."

"No. It was neither of your faults."

"Aren't you mad that we didn't volunteer for you?"

"Nah. If you guys had volunteered, _then_ I would have been mad. You guys would be Bloodbaths. I'm so skilled and so talented that I would win these Games in three seconds and come back Victor. Then I would live in jewels and gold and-"

"Oh, stop." Hermes chucked lightly, but Price's face remained dark, sensing the despair and fear that Chant had behind is usual sarcastic self.

"Lighten up, dear Price," Chant said playfully, all the while a big lump in his throat. "Life is all going to be sunshine when I come back." He would never see them again after this day. He was going to fucking die. Oh, he was.

Chant continued making sarcastic jokes and small talk to cheer his friends up. It did work on Hermes, who had always been the more optimistic type. But Price's face remained shadowed throughout the whole thing.

Staring at Chant, Price tried to take in everything about him. So while Hermes, ever so optimistic, looked at a future Victor, Price looked at a future corpse.

After the two left, Chant was surprised to see that he had no more visitors, but at the same time he was relieved. He didn't need more concern, grief, the usual oh-we're-so-sorry-that-this-happened-please-don't-die.

 _I'm going to die,_ Chant told himself fiercely. _I'm fucking not going to die! You hear me, Panem? I'm not going to die._

* * *

 **District 2**

Julie knew she should have expected it. But she still couldn't help being disappointed.

Her mother wasn't here, and neither was Jinx- the latter too young to go by himself, the first too drunk to know that her daughter was in the Hunger Games at last. And her father...

"Julie."

Julie blinked, then looked up.

"Kale." Silence. "W-what are you doing h-here?" stammered Julie. She inwardly cursed. _Why does he always ruffle me?_

"Saying goodbye," her ex-boyfriend responded.

"I'm coming back."

"Don't underestimate them."

"Who?"

"The outlier tributes. There is a reason that Johanna Mason won for the second tine last year. There is a reason why Career tributes don't win every Games."

"How is Symponia?" Julie asked stiffly, changing the subject.

"Well." Kale replied curtly. "Anyway-"

"I think you should leave. Coming here was a mistake for you. You're just triggering my emotions, making me uncomfortable-"

"Julie-"

"Kale. Please."

"I loved you. If it ever meant anything... come back."

Then he was out and gone out of the door, before his time was even up. Julie stared after him, for the first time in years, confused of this hard, headstrong boy, who had once taken her heart.

It didn't matter though. Not now. When Kale had left her for a pretty girl named Symponia, Julie had closed the doors to her heart. He was nothing- _nothing_ \- but a distraction.

Visitors followed after Kale, people who Julie was glader to see. Academy trainers that knew her well, Academy friends, the Head Trainer, all wishing her luck and that their thoughts would be with her.

When the line of visitors faltered, Julie was left to her own thoughts. She was reminded of a long time ago, of the one of the first Hunger Games replays she had watched in the Academy: The 51st Hunger Games.

That year the District 6 female had won, but had payed a dear price for her victory. She had mentally gone insane when she had been tortured by a psychopath from 10 in the Final Two, although she had managed to plunge a knife into his throat. And before she had been forced to kill her own District partner and see both of her allies ravaged by carnivore birds.

That was why Careers were trained to have no emotions. Otherwise you'll just _break._ The only difference from others to her was that Julie didn't _like_ killing. She didn't like the Capitol. Not really. But if you wanted to live, you had to adapt.

And Julie had.

* * *

Ashlar sat in the private rooms, wondering what in the hell he had gotten himself into, the reality of the situation crashing against him like wave against sand.

Before he could recover however, Press led the few chosen members of the Series 356 into the room. As not all of the gang could fit in the room, Press had chosen only about four or five people to say their goodbyes to Ashlar as representative. Hershel was among them, and so was Tara and Sonya.

"Good luck, Ashlar," Press started off the conversation. "Remember your training. Get to know the other tributes. The better you know your enemy, the better chance you have to beat them. I know you'll come back."

To Ashlar it sounded like the mayor's speech than a caring brother's.

"Ashlar." Tara stepped forward and looked into his eyes. Ashlar felt vaguely uncomfortable. Her eyes were a piercing blue, the color of an afternoon sky. How had he never noticed?

"Ashlar," Tara said again. "You... you..." Her voice failed her. Tara coughed and began again. "Every year, it's the Career arrogance that loses us a Victor. I know that you are that much of one, but you must still be careful." Her eyes blinked up at him. "And never lose track of who you are."

 _Even if you're in the hands of the Capitol, remember that you're still a rebel,_ Ashlar translated her words automatically. He nodded.

"You'll be in our hearts and thoughts," added Sonya. "We'll be waiting." Simple and warm, Sonya's personality.

Finally Hershel spoke. "Ashlar, we've been best friends for four years. I'm proud of you, I really am, but I don't want to lose you. All I can say is be careful."

"I will be."

"Good."

Their time was then up and Press hesitated as Peacekeepers entered the room just to give his brother a quick hug. Ashlar stared after him, surprised but happy.

 _I'll come back, Press,_ he silently vowed. _I promise._

Little did he know, every year all his predecessors had made the same promise. And a majority had never came back.

* * *

 **District 3**

Amelia was close to hysterics as the mayor left. She hadn't heard a word of his stupid speech- not that she cared. All she cared was that she was going into hell. And she was never going to come out.

After a few moments of grieving, anger began to burn inside Amelia. Why had Sabrina not volunteered? It was clear now- her girlfriend was all about how she wanted to protect Amelia, but at the end she had not volunteered. She had let Amelia go to her death. _My mother was right,_ Amelia thought bleakly. _I should have listened to her._

At that very moment Amelia's mother Annabeth entered, a smile on her face. Amelia stood up so suddenly that her stool was knocked over. _Sabrina. My mother was with her last._ Amelia realized she had been stupid. Sabrina _would have_ volunteered for her. She would have. But she had been stopped.

Thoughts and suspicions rushing through her head, Amelia blurted out, "What have you done?"

"Why, my sweet," Annabeth calmly replied. "I've done nothing."

"What have you done to my girlfriend?"

Annabeth yawned. "We.. we just had a lovely conversation about your, ah, relationship. Nothing else, Amelia, dear."

"You took her! What did you-"

"Oh, you shouldn't be so careless, Amelia. I thought I taught you better than that. Leaving your girlfriend in a backalley with _me?_ Really, it was too easy."

"You took her." Amelia repeated bleakly. "You took her."

"Of course!" Annabeth gave a light laugh. "May I just remind you, Amelia... if you say a word about this to anyone else, well... your Sabrina... let's just say that they're eager sex traders all around District 3, who would pay a substantial amount of money for a pretty girl like her."

"Mother." Amelia sank to her knees, all the fight leaving her. "You can't do this. You can't do this to _me!"_

"But if you don't tell..." Annabeth pressed a finger to her lips, a playful smile on her face. "Well, I could let her go free."

Amelia's tears began to fall down, faster this time. Her mother wouldn't change her mind. She would have to lie! She would have to say fake things about her mother and _lie!_ Lie!

Amelia knew, though, that Sabrina was above all those things.

"I look forward to seeing your performance, Amelia," Annabeth smiled. "I hope you do well in the Games! It would be good for my reputation! And keep your girlfriend alive!" Annabeth left the room, smiling and looking happier than Amelia had ever seen her. She finally let her screams out, screaming and screaming until her voice broke.

The only escape from this torture was to win the Games. And that was an impossibility for Amelia.

* * *

The screams of his partner from the other room did nothing to improve Dagan's mood. If possible, it was worsened by a certain visitor.

"Mother."

"Dagan."

"I'm going into the Hunger Games," Dagan said nonchalantly. "Are you happy now?"

"Dagan, whatever you think of me, I'm not a monster. I left you in the orphanage because-" Arianna paused. Did Dagan have to know she had not left him there because of mere weakness? Did Dagan have to know that his mother had left him there because she knew that she could endanger his life? Did... Did he have to know that she was addicted?"

"Because what?" Dagan leaned forward.

"Because I... I loved you." It was the truth. Partially, anyway. But it caused Dagan to snort.

"Three hours ago you told me that I was a bastard and that you hated me. And now that I'm Reaped, you love me? Because even if I come back Victor, you'll have none of my wealth."

"Dagan." Arianna croaked. "That isn't true. Please, trust me on this. I left you in the orphanage because of a reason. I really do love you. Please try to come back."

Arianna left the room, the door closing behind her. Dagan, to his surprise, found himself near tears as well.

No one else came to visit Dagan. He wasn't too surprised- he had left the orphanage when he was younger and living in the streets didn't exactly get you a lot of friends. So he was left to his depressing thoughts about the Hunger Games.

He would have to make allies. Allies that he could actually trust, though. Not the ones that would stab him in the back as soon as they made it past the Bloodbath.

No... the first choice, of course, would be his District partner. But was she strong enough? Strong enough, to undertake the fears of the arena and to make it past the Careers? Smart enough, to know tactics that would help them win the Games?

 _I'll have to see,_ Dagan decided. Allies would help him. But Dagan knew that if he wanted to win, he would have to stab them in that back. Was he ready to do it? To kill a full, living person?

It didn't take him too long to realize that he could.

 _And even if I do come out... who would I be? Would anyone ever forgive me for my actions?_ Dagan wondered. _Would I be seen as a monster, and nothing else? Who would I be?_

* * *

 **District 4**

Vivien sat happily in the goodbyes' room, eager for the mayor's speech to be over and for her family to enter. Of course, Vivien respected him as the leader of the District as well as a former Career Academy graduate, but she was _bored._ Bored.

Vivien was tempted to be blunt and tell the mayor that his speech was stupid. The glory of Careers, the fame that her win would bring, the usual blah, blah, blah. But even Vivien wasn't stupid enough to say that to the mayor.

"Excuse me," Vivien instead said sweetly when the mayor finished reciting. "But are you sure that you don't say the exact same thing every year?" The mayor turned red and walked out of the room, along with his 'honorable' company. Vivien stifled a laugh.

Next entered her mother, who Vivien was relatively more glad to see.

"I'm very proud of you," Lilith announced. Vivien smiled, sure that she had made the right decision. "I'm not going to tell you to be careful, because I know you are a smart girl, Vivien. But do you remember the 70th Hunger Games?"

How couldn't she? It was Triton's year.

"I do."

"Your brother was an idiot. He trusted someone. You mustn't do that. Triton would've came home if not for her. Vivien, I have complete confidence in you that you will come back home if you don't make the same mistake he does. And get away _before_ the Careers are officially breaking up. There is always bloodshed then, and I don't want you to be caught up in the middle of it. Make some excuse of catching a couple of tributes and then escape."

"Mom, will you be mentoring this year?"

"Of course I will be."

Vivien breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I believe in you, Vivien," were Lilith's last words as she was dragged out of the room by Peacekeepers. "Good luck."

Vivien's father entered next. His demeanor shocked Vivien.

Peter, the loud, boisterous, bold father, was red-eyed with crying. It was clear that this had been the reason why he had entered separately from her mother.

"I-I'm going into the Hunger Games!" Vivien declared with false cheerfulness. "Aren't you proud of how far I've come? I'm going to-"

Her father embraced her tightly. For once, Vivien was so shocked that she couldn't speak.

"Please stay alive, Viv," Peter sobbed. "You've got that, girl? Stay alive."

"Dad! Of course I won't-"

"We can't afford to lose you like we did your brother."

"Dad, listen. Once upon a time, there was a duck that fit with no one. Its fellow ducklings teased and laughed at him. But the ugly duckling swore that one day, it would grow strong and wise, and no one would ever tease him again. Later he became a swan. I'm that ugly duckling, Dad. I never fit with anyone. But winning the Hunger Games will make me a swan. And I swear that I'll come back."

"Metaphors," Peter mumbled. "So unlike you, Viv."

"You told me that story when I was five," Vivien laughed, surprised to find herself in tears as well. "The story of the Ugly Duckling."

Her father smiled. "I love you."

"So do I."

Peter left after that. The rest of Vivien's visitors were the standard, trainers from the Academy, young children who were eager to see their tribute for the year.

Vivien was an ugly duckling. But she would evolve to be a swan.

But dreams, were mere dreams.

* * *

Ridge's first visitor after the mayor, to his disappointment, was his family.

"Congratulations, Ridge," said his father lightly.

"Thanks," Ridge muttered.

"We're very proud of you," his mother added.

 _I doubt that,_ thought Ridge, glancing at his sister and brother. Marina, age sixteen, was devoted to her training but hadn't managed to stand out like Ridge had. Ridge going into the Games that year had only infuriated her more, not to even mention that Ridge was a talented student in the Academy, beating the Academy's chosen female by sixteen points in the final exams- a considerable amount.

Shark, age fifteen, was younger than Marina but even more so ambitious. When he was younger Ridge had been his role model, but as he grew older jealousy changed things. Shark was likely to go into the Games though, scoring second or third in his class.

"Congratulations," said Marina stiffly. Shark followed her- it was rather like being congratulated by the mayor. Ridge coughed to hide his laughter.

"Ridge, I'd like to advise you once again to use Cordelia and your baby in your interviews," his father said quietly. Ridge scowled.

"Father, I've already expressed my opinions about this matter."

"Cordelia wouldn't mind," his mother put in.

Ridge sighed. He knew that was true, though he knew that his mother was just guessing. Cordelia wouldn't mind whatever he did as long as he came back to her.

"We love you, Ridge," said his father monotonously. That was the nature of the Cascade family- they held no emotions whatsoever. "Come back safely."

"The odds will always be in my favor," Ridge responded confidently. His father and morher nodded, and they left the room in time before Peacekeepers could drag them out.

Next entered the person Ridge hd actually wanted to see.

Cordelia was in the room before he knew it, the baby with her.

"I'm very proud of you, Ridge Cascade," Cordelia murmured, planting a small kiss on him. "I don't approve of this, but I'm proud of you. So is our baby."

"Father wants me to use you in the interviews," Ridge said, eyes downcast. "Are you... are you ok with that?"

"I'm alright with anything as long as it helps you and not harms you to get back home. And you are going to do that."

Ridge ducked under Cordelia's stern gaze. "I'm going to. I promise. And then we can have our happily-ever-after."

"Except those seem to never happen." Her reply was sad. Cordelia was out of the room before he could stop her.

Next came a flurry of Academy trainers, admirers, those that were eager to see this year's tribute, but Ridge barely said anything, in a storm of his own thoughts and feelings about his fiancé, and if she had ever even actually believed in him.

* * *

 **District 5**

In Courtney's goodbyes, there was no hope.

Only the tears.

"Courtney," said her ashen-faced father. "Courtney," he repeated, as if saying her name would magically change everything.

Her mother was worse. She was hysterically weeping, a mess on the floor. "How could you be Reaped? It's impossible! Your name was only in there four times... how could it have happened?"

At first, Courtney was surprised at this show of emotion. But she realized that she had never been an easy daughter.

"I'm sorry," she said bleakly, coming up with nothing better to say. "I'm sorry I was Reaped. I'm sorry that I wasn't an easier daughter. I'm sorry for everything." Tears slowly slipped down her cheeks. "I'm sorry that I'm going to die."

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT!" Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her furiously. Courtney cried out. "You aren't going to die! You're going to live, a proud, proud Victor! Keep your head and be careful and you're going to win!"

"Mom, I'm not going to win. Please, just accept this. You're just making it harder." Courtney took a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"You've given up," said her father numbly.

"Sponsoring," her mother suddenly gasped out. "Sponsoring! Sweetie, we're going to get you stuff, so don't give up! We have our contacts and friends in the Capitol! We'll ask them! As long as you survive the Bloodbath you're going to be alright!"

It seemed hopelessly optimistic, but Courtney nodded her head, wanting to get some fire into her mother.

"Mom, Dad, listen. I won't go home. Please-"

" _If_ you don't come home," her mother corrected.

"No, Mom. _When_ I don't come home. Accept it! I'm not coming back! And you have to stay together! A bunch of parents divorce when their child dies! I don't want that to happen to you! Promise me you won't do that!"

"We won't!" Her father declared. "We won't!"

"Good," Courtney whispered. "Mom, Dad, I love you." The Peacekeepers entered the room. To Courtney's relief they left before they could drag them out. Tears were still falling from her eyes, fast and unstopping.

Her parents' friends entered next, along with their children, expressing about how much they felt sorry for her and the usual shit. Courtney tried to be nice to them, only in the hopes that they would get her more sponsors.

 _Why does it matter anyway? I'm going to die,_ she thought desperately. Another rational part of her was screaming that she wasn't dead yet, that she must keep going, but Courtney knew that there was no hope for her. She was going to die, eviscarated by some insane Career in the Bloodbath.

But she would not go down without a fight. Courtney had a dream, a beautiful dream, and she was not about to let it go.

* * *

"This can't be happening," said Anthony's mother.

"Well it is Wirea!" shouted Anthony's father. "Listen to me, Anthony! There will be five paths to take once you're in the arena! Take the second! It will look dark and uninviting but it's the safest place! Do not go near the-"

Peacekeepers stormed in.

"But our time isn't up yet!" Anthony's mother protested.

"New orders," said one of them grimly. "Come before we have to drag you!"

"I'm a tribute!" Anthony cried, shielding his parents before the Peacekeeper. "You can't harm me! And-"

The Peacekeeper slammed the butt of his taser gun into Anthony's head. Annabelle screamed.

"That doesn't mean we can't give you a slam," he growled. "Now get out!"

They left, and Anthony was left alone.

 _Take the second path,_ he thought. _What in the hell is that supposed to mean? What is the arena? Don't go near the what?_

The door opened. Carlene stormed in, eyes red and crying.

"Carlene..." Anthony began, but he found that he had nothing to say.

"You're my best friend, Anthony," Carlene whispered. "I can't afford to lose you. Neither can Xander."

"Where is he?"

"He's not coming, Anthony."

"I'll come back, Carlene."

"You're such a liar. I'll sponsor you the best I can. The Capitol has connections with the mayor's daughter. Take this," she said, handing him a photo. "Your parents wanted you to have it. As a remembrance."

Anthony gazed down at it. It was a photo of when he was six, when they had all been so much happier. "Anything to remember you by?" He asked slyly.

"Remember who gave it to you," Carlene responded. "Please try to come back."

"I'll do my best."

"And that's all I need."

"So clique," said Anthony. Carlene gave a half-laugh, a half-sob.

"You are an amazing person." Peacekeepers stormed the room. As she was dragged away, Carlene shouted a final thing: "And we all fucking love you! You've got that, Anthony Colton? You've-"

The doors slammed, blocking out Carlene's shouting. Anthony was left holding the family photo. A supppsedly remembrance.

A remembrance, that he hoped, he would not lose in the arena.

* * *

 **District 6**

Sophia said nothing as the mayor left and her family entered. There was nothing to be said.

"Sophia..." Her mother Lydia started off quietly. Sophia shrugged instead, avoiding her mother's gaze.

"Remember that we love you," said her father Penn.

The family sat in silence until the Peacekeepers told them their time was up. Lydia and Penn glanced backwards hungrily as they were led out of the room, eager to have one last look at their daughter.

No one else came. Sophia was sure that, if alive, Payce, Colin, and Daira would've come to comfort her. But two were no longer in this world, one had disappeared into somewhere that Sophia could not see.

She was on her own.

To Sophia's surprise, the door proceeded to open once more. When it did, Head Peacekeeper Camius entered.

"Head Peacekeeper," Sophia said. "What kind of business would you be looking for here?"

"I've seen you before," Camius responded.

"'Course you have."

"A few months ago. There was a small rebellion in the District after the 75th Hunger Games, and..." Camius stopped. "I suppose you know all about that."

"I'm no longer a rebel," Sophia answered. "I lost everything then. I won't defy the Capitol again, if that's what you're worrying about."

"You should've been shot."

"I just said I won't do it again. What do you want me to do, beg?" Sophia's voice was scathing. "I'm going to die anyway. Some painful death by a Career in the Bloodbath."

"I look forward to it."

"Well, good day to you, Head Peacekeeper."

Camius stared at her for a moment, and then left the room. Sophia tried not to laugh.

Accepting that she was going to die didn't make it easier. But Sophia would value every second of her life... however long it lasted, anyway.

* * *

Raymond, to his relief, wasn't seeing anyone, thanks to his current condition. Once their escort had realized his wounds had been inflicted just before the Reapings and not permanent, she had rushed him to the first-aid healers on the train.

Except first-aid wasn't what Raymond needed.

One of the healers let out a scream when she saw him. Another collapsed.

"Get to work!" The third took command. "Sedatives, healing cream, scar-fade-"

Raymond was drifting off. He saw darkness rising like a wave between his eyelids, and welcomed the feeling.

Perhaps it would be better to die here than in the arena.


	9. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: II

**May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor: Part II**

 **District 7**

The moment District 7's mayor left her, Camellia's steely facade vanished almost at once.

She sank down in her chair, trying to stifle the tears for the sake of her family and District.

She had to think rationally, the realist she was. It was time to start accepting what had happened, and start making plans. It was the only way she would survive the arena.

At that moment, the door opened and her mother Daisy and her sister Maple entered. Maple was strewn to pieces, eyes red and nose watery. The continous sobs of the ten-year-old did nothing to improve Camellia's mood, and neither did Daisy's stricken and hopeless face that clearly stated she did not expect her daughter to even survive the bloodbath.

"Mother. I know I won't survive."

Daisy nodded her head, accepting what was about to come.

"But maybe, just maybe-" Camellia took a deep breath. "Maybe, a miracle would happen. My job as a lumberjack and a nurse equipped me with both fighting and medical skills, which will give me a good advantage in the arena. Not enough to beat the Careers perhaps, but enough to beat some others. And Maple has already given me another advantage in the Reapings - it will be clear to the Capitol that she cares deeply for me, and I can play with the prospect of our relationship."

Daisy was stunned to hear her daughter, always so quiet and obedient, speak out in such a way. Maple was as well, and gradually her sobs recedes to soft sniffles.

"Camellia." Daisy leaned forward, her body shaking. "Please know that… whatever happens, I loved you more than anything."

 _Anything_.

"Maple, the necklace, please." Startled at her mother's unusually harsh tone, Maple handed it over without trouble. "Wear it and remember us in the arena. It'll give you courage."

"Mother…" Camellia's voice trailed into the distance.

"Your father would have been proud."

With that statement Daisy left the room, along with a sniffling Maple before the Peacekeepers could escort them out. Camellia was left alone in the room, clutching her birthday necklace and shaking with grief and desperation.

The door proceded to open once more, to Camellia's surprise. Her fellow nurse and lumberjack, Tullia, entered. Like Camellia she worked two jobs, but had taken care of her two younger brothers alone ever since her mother and father perished from hypothermia.

They had never been friends though. Both kept to themselves, only sprouting conversation when required.

"Tullia, what-"

"I'm sorry I didn't volunteer."

The statement left Camellia blank.

"We've worked together for three years. I should have-"

"It wasn't your fault. We barely spoke to each other." Camellia interrupted.

"I'm sorry, though. I'm sorry that this happened to you."

"I won't die. I refuse to."

Tullia smiled sadly. "Is that a promise?"

"If you need me to, yes."

"Good luck, Camellia. May the odds be ever in your favor. I'm sorry that we never got to know each other."

"Tullia… I…"

"It's Tully. You can call me Tully." With that, Tullia abrutly left the room, leaving a confused Camellia behind.

 _No one expects me to even make it past the Bloodbath,_ Camellia realized bitterly. _But_ _I will!_

Five years ago, no one had expected her to survive with a sick mother and a dead father and an five-year-old sister. No one had expected her to get both jobs as a nurse and a lumberjack. But she had. Against all odds, Camellia had survived that ordeal.

So why not now?

* * *

Rowan knew that he would not enjoy saying his goodbyes.

When his parents entered the room, everything turned out exactly as he had expected. His hysterical mother started to cry, his furious father started to yell, and his sister Prairie stood rigid in the doorway.

"You are an idiot, Rowan," she said calmly througg all the noise.

"I couldn't stand Darren getting Reaped, alright? He's been my best friend ever since we were-"

"I don't care!" his father shouted, standing up from his chair. "Rowan, you-"

"I understand perfectly what the Hunger Games are, Father," Rowan responded. "I also know that I probably won't be coming back. But going down with saving my best friend's life- well, I can live with that. Or die with that, for that matter."

"How noble." Prairie mocked. "Brother, I never thought of you as such."

"Get out of here, Prairie. You're making things worse."

"There is a reason why there are no twelve-year-old Victors," Prairie added. "Did you ever wonder why, Rowan? May the odds be ever in your favor, and try to get an alliance. Only chance you'll survive."

With that his sister was out of the door, leaving Rowan to take care of his parents. Eventually their time ran out and Rowan's parents were dragged from the room, one hysterical and the other furious.

Rowan was glader to see the Brights family, who thanked him endlessly for saving their son. Darren was actually crying though, saying that Rowan would die and it would all be his fault. Rowan shrugged it off, saying that it was worth it.

To his surprise, a stream of visitors followed the Brights, most of them visitors of the Wintermute bakery. They all told him one or the other- that he was an idiot and he would perish painfully in the arena, and the other that he had been extremely noble to do such a thing and would surely come home. Rowan told them, the pessimist he was, that he would die, but he would die happily knowing that he had at least saved somebody.

Inside though, Rowan couldn't help panicking. He had accepted he was going to die, but he was afraid of what would come after. Oblivion? Darkness? Reincarnation? What would happen? Rowan didn't believe in God, but he sincerely hoped that there would be a place for him to rest in after his death.

But like most hopes, it would be only too soon to be snuffed out and gone.

Forgotten.

* * *

 **District 8**

When the District 8 mayor finally left the room, Ekaterina sighed in relief. She cared little for his words and knew that there was little chance she would even survive the Bloodbath.

The next moment Ekaterina's parents entered the room and smoldered their daughter with words or concerns and fright. Just like she had done with

* * *

the mayor, Ekaterina continued to shrug their comments off, uncomfortable and unwilling to show emotion.

At last three minutes passed and tearfully Ekaterina's parents left the room, mourning already for their child who they knew would not return.

Next entered Lacey, who Ekaterina nodded to. She hadn't volunteered for her, but Ekaterina didn't have that against her.

"How's Claire?"

"Recovering," Lacey responded. "I… I'm sorry this happened to you, Ekaterina."

"No." Ekaterina replied. "It was all fate at the end." Lacey leaned closer.

"I know you're a good medic."

"I haven't worked in the apothecary for a whole year."

"Still, you have a chance. You aren't so familiar with herbs, but you're a master in first-aid."

Ekaterina couldn't help but smile at that. "Couldn't you have thought of that before you took my job?"

Lacey wasn't offended though and continued, "You're a tough too, with your years at the factory. I hear that you can't survive there if you don't know how to fight."

"That's true," admitted Ekaterina.

"It's rare when a tribute has both these skills."

Lacey continued to gaze into Ekaterina's eyes, until Peacekeepers entered the room and she broke it away.

"It's time to go," she said, almost to herself. But before she left the room, she called out, "may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Ekaterina swallowed. She gave a rare smile towards the medic as she left and tried to suppress her own cascading emotions.

The door opened again, to Ekaterina's surprise. Next entered a dark-haired woman, ragged and dirty.

The prophetess, Ekaterina realized. In District 8, some people claimed that they could see the future, and became prophetesses, receiving money for few hints of the future. It was all rubbish, of course. Something only desperate people were desperate enough to believe in.

Though, it wasn't something Ekaterina exactly needed now.

"Ekaterina Sacremoto," the prophetess announced. Ekaterina felt herself tensing, fearing what was about to come.

"Get out of here." Ekaterina barely even managed a whisper.

"Glory… glory and honor."

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"The 76th Victor, I fear, will be a Career. But if you twist those odds…"

Peacekeepers came rushing into the room following Ekaterina's command.

"Twisted odds, twisted fate!" the prophetess cried. Twist those odds, and fate will be twisted!"

Ekaterina sat, shaking as the door banged close.

Fate had never been kind to her. So why should it be now?

* * *

Delvin sat in his room, soft tears falling down his face as he did.

He had only been glad to have been Reaped so he didn't have to become a prostitute. But now, sitting in that empty room, Delvin found himself scared and afraid.

When the door opened next it was his fellow worker Cynthia entering. As soon as she saw him, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. Delvin stayed stiff though, unwilling to show emotion. As Cynthia slowly released him, Delvin sat back down on his chair quickly, whole body shaking.

After... the encounter... Delvin had become extremely become touchy of physical contact, even if it was from someone he almost considered for a friend.

He didn't mention it though. He knew that Cynthia had meant well.

"Thank you for coming," he quietly said, before realizing he sounded too dismissal. However Delvin didn't move to correct it.

"I had to see you." Cynthia didn't seem to mind. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything."

"It's alright. I've already accepted that I'm going to die,"

"You can't do that!" Cynthia's eyes widened. "Have you already given up?"

"I suppose you can sort of say that."

"Oh, Delvin..."

"Don't do that," he warned, "Don't oh me."

"I'm sorry. But please, you can't give up! You have to come back! Then you can have your revenge to-"

"Except I won't be coming back!" Delvin was shouting now, tears flowing down his face. "There are fully trained Careers out there, Cynthia! Fully trained Careers that want to kill me and the rest! I'm not going to survive!"

"Yes, you are." Cynthia's blue eyes were filled with tears. "Keep this and remember us. The District, I, need you to come home. Don't be selfish. Every time you want to give up, look and remember." She handed him an old, worn piece of patterened clothing. She then raced out of the room before Delvin could hand it back, sobs shaking her body as she did.

Delvin was left with the cloth, hoping to the divinities that, at least, when he died, the cloth would be with him, that he wouldn't have to die alone.

* * *

 **District 9**

From all his time as the leader of the District, the District 9 mayor had never seen a tribute so desolate.

Sure, they had broke down and cried. They had gone hysterical and screamed. They had gone stone-faced and silent.

But with fourteen-year-old Andrea Evelyn Swain, this seemed not the case.

She was silent and calm, scared and unafraid, all at once. There was a desolate aura around of her of sorts that not many could tell what it was.

As the mayor left the room, Andrea buried her face in her hands and sighed. She sat up quickly though as her next visitor entered.

Her brother Nox came through the doorway, though without the company that Andrea had feared.

It was just him and her, the way it had always been.

"Andrea." Nox wasn't crying, either. He was the way he had always been; strong, brave, calm.

"I'm sorry," Andrea managed to whisper. That was the only thing she could say.

After a long silence, Nox spoke.

"She would be coming in soon."

Andrea groaned and buried her head back into her hands again.

"She only wants to be nice to ne just in case I become Victor me just in case I become Victor."

"Andrea, listen to me," Nox crouched down, leveling himself the same height as his sister. "I . . . I know I've never expressed it, but I love you. I've always have. If I had been a girl . . . " Nox paused. "I would have volunteered for you in matter of seconds."

"I believe you," Andrea whispered. "And I love you too."

The siblings stood in an emotional silence before Nox stood up, embraced Andrea tightly, and left the room.

Next entered her aunt Grace, who Andrea was certaintly much more unpleasant to see.

Grace had her blonde hair in a bun, smooth skin and her voice was charming - as it was when she was outside.

"Andrea, dear."

"Don't dear me," Andrea fired back. Grace's eyes flashed with blue fire, but when she spoke again, her voice was moderate.

"You don't look too pleased to see your aunt."

"I'm not."

"Andrea, this could be the last time we could see each other. After your mother - my sister - died, I grieved. I'm sorry if you were hurt by my actions."

 _She speaks lies._

"You were glad to take her house and money," Andrea argued. "You only took us because the orphanage forced you to, you old hag!"

Grace managed to look shocked.

"Honestly, there's no need to be so harsh, Andrea."

"Get out of here! Now! Don't you think I know you only came here because you wanted a piece of my victor when I become Victor? Yeah, I said it! I'm going to be Victor of the 76th Hunger Games! And the first thing I'll do is to make you live on the streets while Nox and I live in Victor's Village!"

Grace trudged out of the room, face furious. Andrea sat back down on her chair, sighing.

She wasn't as sure as her words had been.

Would she really become Victor? Or was it only a matter of time before her life was snuffed out like twenty-two others were?

* * *

"Taylor."

Taylor looked up at the familiar voice, to see a crying Shiloh. His twin was crying, actually crying.

And Shiloh never cried.

She was the tough one from birth. When six-year-old Taylor had been scared of little piglets, she had already touched a poisonous snake. When he had screamed at school when Kyron Osbourne had slipped a spider inside his desk as a joke, Shiloh had carried it outside without a sound.

Shiloh was always the stronger one, perhaps because being older by several minutes.

And now…

"Marissa will be here soon," Shiloh warned, snapping Taylor out of his thoughts.

"Marissa? Shiloh, can't you-"

"This could be the last time you are seeing her," Shiloh informed him. Taylor stayed silent at that.

"And Taylor…" Shiloh sighed softly. "Mom and Dad won't be coming in. They don't want to see you, and it's just going to make it harder for them."

Taylor nodded. "I understand."

"I'm glad you do."

Tears fell from Shiloh's eyes, quickly and softly. "Taylor, whatever happens, remember that we love you. We all do."

"I love you too," Taylor responded two siblings stood in an emotional silence before Peacekeepers entered the room.

"It's time to go," Shiloh said softly; sadly. "I love you, brother."

Before Taylor could say anything, his twin was out of the room, leaving him alone.

Until the door opened again and his girlfriend entered the room.

Taylor had stood up before he even realized it.

The two was locked in a tight kiss before neither of them even knew it. They expressed their love for each other in that short minute, crying and kissing and hugging all at once. It was like they were trying to give each other all the love they had ever wanted or needed before they were forever separated by the darkest grim reaper named death.

"Come b-back, will you?" Marissa was sobbing, unable to control her hysteria. "P-please come back, Taylor."

"I … " Taylor knew that no wasn't possible as an answer. "Marissa, Marie, I can't promise that I'll come back, because that's not true." He broke away from their embrace, looking into Marissa's eyes. Green and black met, one steady and the other shaking.

"I've never lied to you, and I won't now. But … " Taylor lost his courage for a moment, breaking down internally. "B-but I wish more than anything that I c-could n-n-now."

"Taylor."

"I love you, Marissa."

"Taylor!"

Peacekeepers stormed into the room. Marissa didn't even try to resist, black eyes completely losing hope. Taylor felt his heart shatter as Marissa was dragged out of the room, with those hopeless eyes of hers.

More people entered, more than Taylor cared to count in the world. Old family friends, school friends, et cetera - his mind was only filled with those black eyes, and the shattering pain in his heart.

When Marissa had left the room that second, something in Taylor's heart had vanished, had disappeared completely. Had dissipated.

Had simply gone.

And he feared that he would never get it back.

* * *

 **District 10**

Bitterness and fury stormed through Idoya's body as the District 10 mayor left.

First, her father leaving. Falling into poverty. Her, taking heed of the family. And now this.

Her family entered, her mother Lotte looking exhausted as she always did, and holding a red-eyed Jemina's hand.

As soon as she saw Idoya, Jemina ran to her arms. Idoya tried not to cry, reminding herself that she had to be strong for her family.

"I'm tough," she promised, speaking to Jemina but more to her mother. "I'm strong; I've been working hard ever since Dad left us. I know what suffering is and what it means. And I also know that - " Idoya took a breath. "That Panem is not exactly a welcoming world. It is a cruel society of a system of kill or be killed. I believe that this is wrong, but sometimes, you have to obey it. It is better than death.

"I promise that I will come back, because we deserve it, all of us. Ever since Dad left, we've been the lowest of the lowest. This is a chance to turn our lives around. Maybe, me getting Reaped is a lifetime chance. Chances pass quickly, and we have to be strong and intelligent enough to grasp it in our hands. I believe I have all those traits."

"Those are brave words," Lotte agreed. Idoya saw her mother blink, and realized that Lotte was trying not to cry. "Dear Idoya, may the odds be ever in your favor." She failed to do so however, tears falling softly and swiftly from her eyes.

Idoya gently pushed Jemina away, and smiled sadly as her family left the room.

Her anger was gone now, replaced by only misery.

Next entered her childhood friend, Sabrina Woodrow. It was then when Idoya realized their years of friendship, however close, was not as deep as she had imagined. Sabrina hadn't volunteered for her … and Idoya realized, if Sabrina had been Reaped, she would have failed to volunteer in her place as well.

Sabrina however did not seem to notice this.

The fourteen-year-old pushed herself into Idoya's arms as soon as she entered the room. Idoya stayed rather stiff though, affronted and angered.

She soon realized that it wasn't worth it, though. She would have done the same thing anyway.

 _Grudges can be dangerous,_ Idoya recovered another life lesson from her mother. _So let go of them_. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, but this may be the last time she saw Sabrina.

So Idoya tightly embraced her best friend, whose face was full with tears.

"I'm sorry," Sabrina cried into her arms. "I'm sorry that I didn't volunteer."

"You are fourteen," Idoya responded. "I'm sixteen. I have a greater chance in the Games. It was a good thing that you didn't volunteer for me."

"What was I doing? I'm such an idiot! I would have volunteered for you in an instant, and I was standing there like a statue - "

"It's done. And we can't change the past."

"Idoya, you're like my big sister. I … I can't lose you."

"You won't," Idoya promised.

"You're lying."

"I … I promise."

Sabrina said nothing, but hesitance flickered in her eyes and Idoya knew that she hadn't managed to convince her.

"This is your token," Sabrina said at last, clutching the blue bandanna bracelet that Idoya had on her wrist. "You're allowed to take one thing from your home to the arena. This will be a keepsake, a reminder of who you are and how many people are waiting for you to come home."

Sabrina no longer sounded fourteen at the shadow of death. Her eyes were much older, aged and grieved like she had already lost somebody else.

"Idoya Meneses." Sabrina held her hand tightly. "We'll wait for you. You wander into that dark road called the Hunger Games alone, but this token will be your torch that lights your way back."

Tears fell, gently and silently. Idoya no longer knew whose they were.

"Come back, and you'll receive honor and love. Happiness awaits, if you manage to return."

Then Sabrina was gone and out of sight, leaving Idoya's tears to fall alone.

* * *

Cameron said nothing as his family entered. It was better to say nothing instead of something.

"Cameron..." Totill, his nineteen-year-old brother, sighed deeply. "This shouldn't have happened."

"But it did," responded his father bleakly. Totill rounded on his father, eyes flashing.

"If I had been of Reaping age... I would have volunteered in an instant."

"Really?" Cameron spoke for the first time, doubt filling his eyes. Totill and he had never been close, although there had only been one year between them. Totill was occupied with getting a good job in the District after leaving school and Cameron was occupied with the bullying.

"Always," Totill replied. Cameron raised his eyebrows, surprised of his brother's certainty.

 _Another reason for me to feel guilty,_ Cameron thought. He shouldn't want more than what he had now. His brother would volunteer to die for him. His parents cared, _cared_ so much that they would speak in such a bleak tone. His girlfriend Ezriel loved him.

He had almost everything a District 10 citizen could want.

"Goodbye, Cameron," his mother murmured, passing a hand over his cheek. Cameron realized then no one held hope for him. Their eyes were solemn and empty, accepting the fate that would soon befall their son and brother.

They believed that he would die in the Bloodbath. That it might be for the better, for he wouldn't have to go through so much suffering if he did survive that.

 _Maybe they're right._

His family left the room before their three minutes were over, his mother crying and his father broken, his brother empty and angry.

His beautiful girlfriend Ezriel entered the room next.

Cameron remembered clearly how they had met, three years ago:

He had been fifteen years old, Ezriel fourteen, and Cameron's family had saved up enough to move to a better and newer house. Ezriel had become his neighbor, and the two had become close during their winter break.

When they had gone back to school, his bullying had continued. Cameron had come home with bruises and scratches.

One day, Ezriel had been present in a beating in the backalley of the school. She had stood up for him, telling them that they were cowards and they ought to be ashamed. Aaron and his lackeys had gone home that day, and Cameron had been left alone.

It was a year later when they started dating each other.

With blonde hair and dark blue eyes, Ezriel was a rare beauty in District 10. Those blue eyes Cameron had always loved were breaking down into liquid now, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"Cameron," Ezriel said. "Oh, _Cameron._ If only I had been a boy..."

"Then we'd have never dated each other," Cameron responded. Ezriel half-laughed, half-cried.

"I'm glad that you are my boyfriend."

"I'm glad that you are my girlfriend."

The couple gazed into each other's eyes... for what would probably be the last time. The girl was the first to break away, but when she silently left, there were tears in both of their eyes.

* * *

 **District 11**

As expected, Shellby's mother had failed to make it to her goodbyes.

So the last glance she had had of her mother was her sick form back in the morning.

Her siblings Acacia, Robin, Liam, and Fern were led into the room by their present oldest sibling, ten-year-old Noah instead.

It was chaos.

The twins were crying, wailing their grief to the sky. They didn't know, not to the full extent, what the 'Hunger Games' were and what they meant. They only knew that something bad had happened, and soon their sister would go away forever. As Noah phrased it, she would be in a 'very, very deep sleep'.

Eight-year-old Acacia was monotonous as usual. Her emotions had not deviated from her usual state. Despite knowing what kind of emotional state she was in, Shellby couldn't help but feel slightly irritated.

She was going to her death, and her sister didn't even seem to care.

She's not stable, Shellby told herself. You've got to understand. What kind of older sister was she?

"Look," Shellby started, knowing that they all needed to understand. Even Noah didn't understand what was happening completely. "I'm going on a journey of sorts."

"A journey?" squeaked Fern, not understanding. "Can I come too?" Robin and Liam blinked, wondering what on earth was going on.

"No," Shellby responded, almost immediately. "You'll get to go later."

"When?" Acacia asked quietly.

"It'll be a while." Not for a long, long time, I hope. "I'm going to stay there for quite a time. It's our new home, and it's a wonderful place."

"Does it have food?" Fern squeaked.

"Of course," Shellby promised, heart aching. "But you've got to understand, to get to this new home, you have to wait for a long time. A long, long time. I'll be preparing our new home up, so we can't go together. Noah will take care of you. Mom is coming with us as well. But if you wait, one day, we'll all be there laughing and eating and resting." I have to believe that. I have to. "When each of you turn twelve years old, ask Noah what exactly happened this morning. She'll tell you everything."

The words did not register with the young children. Fern smiled happily, excited at the prospect of a new home; Robin and Liam stopped crying and began to join their sister in her smiling contest; Acacia was monotone, but that was usual; and Noah shook with the knowledge that she had been given. That her amazing older sister, their caretaker, their real mother, would not be returning.

"I love you." Noah whispered into her sister's ears. Shellby smiled sadly, accepting her fate and what was about to befall her.

"Don't let them watch. I don't want you to watch, but … someone … I want someone to know what happened to me, how I died, someone to explain to those kids what did happen."

"They won't remember you well," Noah warned. "Acacia and I will, but not the others."

"They will remember that they had an older sister who went off in a journey one day," Shellby promised. "Thank you for helping me out. It's your time to take care of this family now."

Noah began to cry softly, though no one else noticed except Shellby. "I don't want you to go."

"I have to," was Shellby's response. "I know you'll make me proud, sister. I love you."

It was a clear dismissal, and Noah led the others out of the room, who were still chattering about their new home and Shellby's so-called 'journey'.

It was then when Shellby's own tears finally came, and it was then when she let them fall at last.

Kestrel's goodbyes were an organized and short-timed affair. The orphanage's headmaster and owner, Dr. Keen entered the room to express his regards about Kestrel's Reaping, and how he wished him luck.

It had ended though when Kestrel had attacked the doctor, viciously and furiously.

He took me away! Kestrel thought, red filling his eyes. My family is lost because of him. It's all his fault!

So he had attacked the doctor, clawed his face and body, stamped him down with the chair, until the Peacekeepers came in and started to announce that their time was up.

They found a sweetly smiling Kestrel sitting on his chair, blood leaking from Dr. Keen's body and a red stain on the chair.

A pool of red sat beside Kestrel.

The shocked Peacekeepers were frozen till one finally snapped into attention, and ordered the others to get Dr. Keen to the apothecary.

But they all knew, no one with so much blood loss ever survived in this District …

And Kestrel was just there, smiling and laughing and with no reaction that the Peacekeepers had expected of him.

It was the final straw. His escort and mentor decided that he was fully insane.

But in this world, you had to be a little insane to win the Hunger Games …

* * *

 **District 12**

Cassia wasn't surprised to have her only visitors the mayor, and … someone who Cassia decided not to count.

Her long-ago boyfriend nineteen-year-old Keaner entered the room, his hair still dusty and dark from his times at working in the mines.

"Cassia Wells," was were his first words. "It's been a long time."

"Three years, actually," Cassia responded.

"You're just as beautiful as then."

"Stop flirting with me, Keaner. You never came to see me after you left for your supposedly promotion. You said that a beautiful future was waiting for us. You and I, we would marry as soon as I turned eighteen and we would be stuck in poverty, but we would still be happy as long as we had each other."

Keaner glanced down at the ground. "I'm sorry about that, Cassia. It was … it was just too hard for me."

"What was too hard for you?" Cassia asked in a challenging tone. "I was fourteen and I put up with it."

Keaner pondered for a moment. Should he tell her the real truth? That he had put the happiness of the District before his own emotions? That he had stayed up all night, wondering whether to risk his life for a greater cause? Would it do her any good to tell her he had joined the rebels?

No. It would just distract her from her preparation for the Games and wouldn't be any help. So he instead responded, "the work. I loved you, but - "

"Not enough." Cassia finished the sentence for him.

"I'm sorry about your sister … Iona, was it?"

"No. Her name was Hope. Hope Wells."

"Hope." Keaner stayed silent for a moment. "District 12 needs some of that."

"You've got that right." Cassia's response was dry. "Except that it doesn't exist."

Keaner stared at her for a moment. Where had that charming, smiling, flirting fourteen-year-old had gone? He had first fallen for her by her charm, and now, it was all gone. All them seemed to be left of his beautiful girlfriend was a dark, empty shell of her. Had he really caused that?

"I'm sorry." Keaner's voice shook a little. It had all been for the greater good. But had the sacrifice had been too much?

Cassia sighed. "I've let you go a long time ago. Your apology is accepted."

Keaner stared at her for a moment, trying to drink it all in. Her face, her hair, her body … he knew that her memory would eventually fade as the years passed, no matter what he did, but at that moment, Keaner didn't care. He would've liked to stay in that moment forever, without the interference of the rebels and his complicated contacts and plans with rebels in other Districts.

"Cassia Wells." He said her name like it was magical, like she was something special. Because she was.

Cassia Wells.

She was everything to him, and she would always be.

Keaner internally wept, realizing that this would probably be the last time he would see his girlfriend again. After Katniss Everdeen coming so close to victory in the 74th Hunger Games, it was clear that Cassia would be targeted, especially by District 2. Although Cato had won that year's Games, there was still some anger and frustration in other Career Districts that a mere outlier had came so close to victory.

"I love you, Cassia," Keaner said it under his breath, unwilling for Cassia to hear yet wanting so badly for her to do so.

Cassia did not hear. She stayed immobile as Keaner left the room, with tears gathering and shaking.

* * *

It was then when Nico let all of his fury out about how much he hated the world.

When his family came in, they found a screaming, furious Nico, spitting and shrieking about how unfair the world was. They failed to calm him down, and eventually left the room when their time was up.

Amaliya was asking questions all along the three minutes, in which her parents awkwardly responded by "her brother was going into the Hungry Games … and that he would not be coming back". Amaliya failed to understand the dark meaning under their words - being too young and too little to understand - kept asking questions her parents could not or did not give answers to.

Nico calmed down once they left, realizing that screaming would do no good to him once he was in the Games. Under his quickly created mask of indifference, a scared and afraid fifteen-year-old lived behind. No one noticed, though.

Because to survive, you needed to be a good actor; a good liar. Panem wasn't a 'good' nation - that could just be proved by the Hunger Games and how much people were willing to kill, just for their own survival. And that included Nico.

Then time by time, there were people who tried to be good, tried to be good in any way that they could be in this desolate nation that was Panem.

But they were rare, and the bigger thing was that they had all failed.

Nico was standing in a division of paths. He had walked the middle one all his life, like most District 12 citizens had, but now that was no longer possible, thanks to the Reaping. He could go down rebelling or live as a Victor.

In other words, he could die nobly or live shamefully.

Of course he would live. Who wouldn't?


	10. Towards the Capitol

**Chapter 9: Towards the Capitol**

 **District 1 Train**

Chant groaned lightly as the recaps played. Victoire hadn't spoken a word to him after the Reaping, and all the while the damnable escort was screaming about how the two of them would be a perfect couple.

Victoire: pretty, blonde, blue-eyed - the typical District 1 beauty. Chant: well-muscled, blonde, blue-eyed - the typical District 1 male.

Chant _hated_ the comparison. It seemed like the escort was trying to make them like the fucked-up Everlark couple back in the 74th Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark.

"At least concentrate!" Chant blinked, staring at Victoire. It was the first time she had spoken to him that night.

Not wanting to cause an argument, Chant nodded and looked back at the television. The District 5 girl was just emerging from the crowd. She looked capable, although there was a permanent expression of fear frozen on her face. The crowd catcalled after her, some cheers from the others.

"She must be a rich brat," muttered Victoire under her breath.

The District 5 boy's Reapings were rather confusing. When the name was called, one of them started to call out to volunteer only for the originally Reaped boy to refuse his offer. Chant noticed that the mayor's daughter had a distressed expression on her face, despite the boy' s noticeable features from a poor background.

District 6 was a disaster. The Reaped boy was covered with blood and injuries on the ground, and he started screaming as soon as his name was called. Chant was surprised; in District 1, the heavily injured were excused of the Reapings.

The girl, Sophia, looked more capable, but she had an empty gaze of sorts that made Chant frown. Her presence was dark and unwelcoming, something Chant disliked.

Before they could watch District 7, Victoire stood up suddenly.

"Bathroom," she muttered. She blinked at him.

Chant realized she wanted him to come with her.

Without a single thought, he rose as well. "Bathroom."

The escort nodded, focus on the recaps. Victoire and Chant ended up in an empty car. Avoxes were running around back and forth, but they didn't count. They were just property.

"Listen." Victoire sat down, blue gaze on him.

"I'm listening."

"Good. Because we all know that I'm either going to get you killed, or get you to live."

"W-what?"

"After seeing the recaps, the Careers are going to know that you're not a real trained Career. Your expression and your posture was easy enough to read, before Caesar Flickerman announced it to the whole of Panem. You won't get into the Career alliance without me, and it'll make you a primal target for the Bloodbath, which I believe you don't want. But I can convince them. I'm a charmer, after all. But you'll have to prove that you're worthy enough."

"How?" Chant asked, fearing the worst.

"Well, I'll have to tell them the truth, that you weren't ever trained properly. They'll hate it, I know they will, and most will be opposed to us joining. Even if we get kicked out then, if you have a training score above seven . . . well, that proves you are capable. Eight is good enough for me. Otherwise I _will_ dump you and find another ally."

Chant took this all in, before he realized that he had gotten more than he had expected.

"You're actually helping me," he said with amazement.

"I suppose you could phrase it that way."

* * *

 **District 2 Train**

"Did you see the District 1 boy?" asked Julie as she sat in an empty car seat, along with her partner Ashlar.

"Yeah, didn't look like an actual Career."

"Keep or out, what do you think?"

Ashlar shrugged. "We've only seen him for about ten seconds. We shouldn't judge yet."

"Fair point," Julie conceded.

"Any potential outlier allies?" Ashlar asked.

"As you've said before, we've only seen them for about ten seconds."

Ashlar laughed lightly. "I guess you're right. The District 10 boy looked slightly off, though."

"Another insane one." Julie dismissed the unspoken idea with a glance. "District 4 seems strong this year."

Ashlar nodded. "Especially the boy, Ridge. But the girl's name seems familiar."

"70th Hunger Games," said Julie. "Wasn't there someone called Triton Crassly from 4?"

"Lilith Crassly," realized Ashlar. "She's a Hunger Games Victor. And their mother."

"And she's her daughter," Julie groaned. "Another level-headed one."

"I wanted to ask you something," said Ashlar lightly, changing the subject. "When the Careers break up, well, I wanted you to know that I'll be on your side."

Julie looked at him in surprise.

"Just for the showdown," Ashlar hastily added. "Then we part ways peacefully. The next time we meet, we're enemies."

"That's a good idea," Julie agreed, not seeing any flaw in the plan.

"So that's agreed upon?"

"It's a deal."

"Deal."

Both District partners smiled at each other, the roar of the train lapsing into a dull sound before them.

* * *

 **District 3 Train**

"So you're a lesbian?" asked Dagan as dinner began. Amelia nodded.

"If you want to phrase it that way," she said, her reluctance showing.

"If you don't want to be called that, I won't call you that."

"No," said Amelia. "Back in District 3, I feel like people look at me and the only word that defines me is _lesbian_. But I'm Amelia Villarreal. I'm not a word. I'm my own person."

"You've grown more confident," said Dagan, eyeing her with surprise. Amelia blushed, remembering the events of the Reapings.

"I've changed now. Being weepy will do no good at this stage."

"That's good thinking, Amelia," said their mentor, Tesla. Since Beetee and Wiress's deaths in the 75th Games, Tesla had been left as the only living District 3 mentor. She had won the 68th Hunger Games at fifteen, creating a bomb from the gunpowder she had found in a nearby basement that left almost every tribute dead except her. That year had been an ancient city of Rome, and was still a favorite within the Capitol.

Amelia nodded happily, proud with the praise.

"You're pretty enough for the Capitol to like you," commented their escort, Flora. "And to them, red hair means that that tribute has some fire inside them."

"I'm fiery," Amelia promised, smiling broadly. Beside her, Dagan's mood was dark. Ever since they had gotten on the train, all their mentor and escort had been talking about was Amelia. Beautiful, fiery, hotheaded Amelia. It didn't seem to matter that her Reapings had been disastrous, while Dagan's had been solid and promising. Dagan was an orphan and dark and cold, and he wasn't exactly the happy type, either.

 _Whatever,_ he thought grimly. _I'll just make the Capitol like me. Sponsors will come pouring in then._

He coughed a little as he tasted the thing their escort had called hot chocolate. The Capitol food was amazing, but Dagan found himself getting a little addicted with that particular substance.

"We should talk about the Training Center," he said."About what kind of scores we should get."

"I'm afraid," said the escort tentatively. "That tributes from this District average a four. Between a five and a seven would be good."

Dagan nodded, as did Amelia.

 _I'm going to do this,_ Dagan thought. _I'm going to win this thing!_

* * *

 **District 4 Train**

Ridge. Vivien. Both hotheaded, though they would never admit it. Both ambitious. In the Capitol polls, tied at the place of most likable Victor. In the escort's eyes, already Victors.

Vivien was considering whether to go by it for herself. After Tristan's death, she wasn't too sure of making allies. Who knew one of them would suddenly sneak in the night and kill them all? Vivien wanted to believe that no one would stoop that low, but for victory, some people would do anything. Certainly the Careers were despicable enough.

She would have to join, though, if she wanted to quickly eliminate others from the game. It was the easiest position to hold as a Career. It was the District 4 tradition anyway, and Vivien could just imagine what they would be saying back at home.

Her District partner was a bigger problem than she had thought, though. He was a powerful opponent, though he was not known as well as Vivien was in the Capitol. But once they heard about his little sob story about his fiancé and his baby, it was obvious how popular he would become.

Vivien had her sob story of her own, of course. Tristan's. But it wouldn't be as appealing to the Capitol.

 _It doesn't matter,_ Vivien fiercely told herself. Her mother's influence as a Victor and her status as her daughter should be enough. The morphling issue, however …

Vivien took a deep breath. It would be her biggest problem in the arena, and without the Capitol she would never get it. Morphling wasn't something that was in the Cornucopia, and wasn't something she would get that easily.

She would think about that when she had to. For now, she would focus on her District partner and her popularity in the Capitol.

With that thought, Vivien hurried downstairs, eager to have her dinner. Ridge, her escort, and their sole mentor Annie were already eating. Ridge and the escort looked up to see her as she entered, but Annie seemed to be lost in her own world, like she so often was. She was beautiful as usual with her dark red hair and typical District 4 blue eyes, but looking deeper into her eyes you could see something was wrong. Finnick's death at the 75th Games had only deepened that sense of wrong.

Vivien had known Annie ever since childhood. Her own mother Lilith had been Annie's District partner's mentor that year. Though even as a five-year-old, Vivien had always known something was wrong about the young Victor.

She had been never so close with Finnick, but had been saddened when he had died, though only for District 4's sake.

District 4 needed a victory. It was her turn to step up and take the stage. Her brother had failed.

But Vivien would not.

* * *

 **District 5 Train**

"You're so naive, Courtney." It was those words that had sparked the argument.

"Uh, are you serious? Is that a fourteen-year-old talking to a sixteen-year-old?"

"When in a poor background, we grow up faster. I'd say I'm about twenty compared to your blissful world."

"My world isn't-"

"Didn't you hear what Caesar said? _A beautiful young girl, with a dreamy and blissful view of the world. She would certainly be a favorite in the Games."_

"Well, that's not true! What did he say about you, anyway? _A tough boy, clearly from poor backgrounds … he is unpredictable, like all of them are."_

"I volunteered for Xander!"

"You were Reaped!"

"He would have taken my place if I hadn't refused! That already makes me special in the eyes of the Capitol!"

"Oh, shut up. I know who you are. You are that boy the mayor's daughter dates, aren't you?"

Anthony blushed furiously. "Xander dates her, not me!"

"Same thing." Courtney was happy to know that she had hit a bone. "Carlene seemed distracted these days."

"You are a rich brat!" Anthony yelled, standing up from the dinner table. The escort tried to say something, but the mentor stopped him. "And you know nothing about my fucking life!"

"I tried to help people! They never accept me anyways!"

"Oh, you little poor saint. How our tears flow for you," Anthony mocked her. At that moment, Courtney was tempted to hit him on the face, no matter how old he was. No matter how she should be the one in control.

He made him feel like she was the fourteen-year-old, not him. And Courtney hated being underestimated.

She instead picked up her plate and threw it at him.

Their escort screamed. Their mentor sighed. The plate shattered into a hundred of pieces in Anthony's shocked face. He gritted his teeth then and pulled his butter knife from the table. Courtney responded by grabbing a real knife from the fruit jar.

"Butter knife against a real one, idiot," Courtney laughed in his face. "Let's see who wins this game."

"What are you doing?!" their escort shrieked. "That is enough, Mister Colton, Miss White! That is-" Anthony picked up his butter knife and pointed it at her face. Their escort paled almost instantly.

"What I hate most is," he said, gritting his teeth, "are _Capitolites_."

With those words, he left the dining room with a crash, leaving Courtney, the escort, and their mentor in shocked silence. Slowly, Courtney lowered her own knife as well.

When she heard the doors slam, she muffled an exasperated sigh. She thought her District partner would make a good ally. Apparently, she was as bad at reading people as she had thought.

* * *

 **District 6 Train**

"That was a fucking disaster," said Sophia calmly as she ate. Her tone was too calm for the magnitude of the words.

"Miss Edmonds, you will watch your words!" cried the escort.

"Shit," was Sophia's response. "Capitolites can be such little bitches." She looked to her mentor, smiling flatteringly. "Aren't they?" Their mentor gave no response. He was one of the more stable ones, stable at least for a District 6 Victor, but he would be considered a drunk in other Districts.

Her supposedly partner who had been busy bleeding out in the Reapings, Raymond, had joined them. He was silent though. Too quiet for Sophia's liking. She already missed her cigarette.

"So, what do you think, Raymond?" Sophia asked, exhaling as she always did when she took a whiff of her cigarette. "Think that you want to be my ally?"

"I won't help you," Raymond snapped. "Stop being so … so nice. I know it's a fake. I'm not stupid."

Sophia raised her eyebrows.

"Well, there's another proof that you aren't a total idiot. It makes you a pretty good ally, because I need someone that's more brains than brawn."

"Shut up," Raymond growled.

"So hostile." Sophia laughed lightly. She couldn't understand why she was in such a mood. She was going to the Hunger Games. Death would swiftly come to her. Sophia herself hoped to die in the Bloodbath, so that she would not have to experience all the suffering and death that would come later. So why was she so … all right? Why was she … so happier than she had ever been after Payce's death?

Was it that she felt the end was coming? The end to District 6, to her family? The end of somewhere she only had the worst memories left of?

It was sad, if you thought about it. But Sophia was only left with a wistful feeling.

If everything had been different . . .

She smiled a little. A melancholy smile.

 _My life was good,_ she thought. _Good for a District 6 girl. I had an amazing boyfriend, the best friends I could ever have. All of them went down bravely. It's my turn now._

Sophia smiled again. She was going down, that was for sure. But she would make sure something went down with her. She wouldn't leave as a plain District 6 tribute who had just died in the Bloodbath.

No. Before that.

She would be taking the Capitol down with her, no matter what the cost.

* * *

 **District 7 Train**

"So, it's decided," said Camellia as she sat in her District partner's room. "The deal is done. We're allies."

This kind of deal could only be temporary, of course, but Camellia wasn't exactly willing to discuss that fact.

"Until the Final Eight," Rowan responded, sensing Camellia's hesitation. "I … I don't want to get too attached to you. You've been like a sister to me, ever since the Reapings. But we are in the Hunger Games."

"Done," Camellia agreed. "I suggest that we find some more allies," she added. "The bigger the group is, the bigger our chances of staying alive."

"Good idea," Rowan conceded. "I was considering the District 8. They are outliers as well, so they shouldn't be to hostile at the thought of an alliance."

"The boy's thirteen, though," Camellia said, before she realized she had made a mistake. The flush almost instantly crept up on Rowan's cheeks.

"If you think-"

"You are not dragging me down!" Camellia quickly said. "Rowan, I swear, I didn't mean that. It's just that the thirteen-year-old looked really pale. He's weak, Rowan. Not like-" Camellia stopped, realizing that she wasn't helping. "I'm sorry, Rowan."

"I'm not dragging anyone down."

"You aren't, I promise." Camellia looked relieved as Rowan nodded. They continued on like nothing had happened, although there was a nagging doubt in Rowan's heart.

So Camellia thought he was weak. That much was obvious. Others would do as well, though. He was the youngest competition, beating out that thirteen-year-old boy Delvin.

 _I can do this,_ Rowan told himself. _I'm a survivor. And I do what I have to do to live._ He was only acting the little brother act for Camellia. When the time came … well, when the time came, Rowan knew that he wouldn't hesitate to leave her.

Or would he?

Rowan did like Camellia. She really was like a sister, that much was true. But …

This was the Hunger Games. And those kinds of things never went far. It usually ended up with both tributes dying in some kind of horrible way or another.

Rowan clenched his fists. It didn't matter. He would win these Games. They were just surviving. Something that Rowan had done all his life. He would survive.

* * *

 **District 8 Train**

"For the upteenth time, Delvin," Ekaterina said tiredly. "I can't be allies with you."

"I don't understand. As District partners, we should be allies. It's me who can't understand."

Ekaterina sighed unhappily. Her head was busy with Claire, the Hunger Games, and everything in the entire universe. She was still trying to figure out what were her odds of surviving, all the while watching those recaps again after dinner. On top of that Delvin was nagging her forever, ever since she had refused to be allies with him.

Why? He was weak, that much was evident. He was broken and something big had obviously happened to him. Ekaterina wouldn't be surprised if he had given up his body for money. He was an orphan, according to Caesar and Claudius Templesmith's words, and a bunch of orphans were forced into the darkness of sex trade at a young age in District 8.

Ekaterina was determined to survive the Games. And she couldn't do that if she was allies with a pitiful thirteen-year-old.

District 7 seemed like a good ally, although the boy was a bit too young for Ekaterina's taste. The District 3 girl, Amelia, was a disaster, but her partner Dagan seemed alright. District 5 wasn't too bad, either, although District 6 was catastrophic. She wouldn't be surprised if the boy Raymond fell off his plate at the start, and the girl Sophia was very obviously an addict. District 9 had a colossal beauty. 10 and 12 were simply weak, although something was evidently not all right with the 11 male, Kestrel.

Ekaterina had already planned things out, except she knew that most of her arena plans would depend on the actual arena.

The Training Center would be a good place to practice her weapon skills. Ekaterina knew most about hand-to-hand fighting, thanks to the beatings of the Peacekeepers, though her survival skills were zero. She would have to work on that as well. A training score about five or six would be good, not too low but not too standing out.

The rest Ekaterina would leave up in her mentor, stylist and escort's hands. The interview angle, the costumes, her sponsors - all that would depend on them.

As Delvin left unhappily, Ekaterina lay down on her bed and watched the Reapings for the upteenth time. To beat her enemies, it was essential to know them.

 _I'm going to do this,_ Ekaterina thought internally. A _nd I'm going to win. No matter what the cost._

* * *

 **District 9 Train**

Taylor felt a sigh escape him as he sat with Andrea at his room. She was obviously here to discuss the typical District partner allying, and Taylor wasn't sure if he wanted to do it now.

Andrea had recovered from the events of the Reaping, though Taylor knew there would be a harsh backlash from the Capitol when they arrived. By the screaming and the crying, Andra had already defined herself as a 'weak' tribute.

"Hey," Taylor said awkwardly as she sat down. "Is it true that one of your maids died last night?"

"Eleanor Norton," Andrea responded, happy to have small talk. "Electric shock."

"That must've been pretty depressing."

"Certainly not the best news you want to wake up with in the morning."

Taylor laughed a little, a little surprised with the girl's attempt for humor. Maybe she would make a good ally in the arena.

"You know, us being allies … " He started off the conversation. "I think that's a good idea." Andrea smiled, almost at once. Her tense body relaxed and all of it brought her blue eyes out.

She was extremely pretty.

Taylor gaped for a moment.

"Thank you," said Andrea, her tone relieved. "So, do you just want to go by it with the two of us? Or find a few more allies?"

"The more, the better," Taylor replied, snapping out of his daze. What was he thinking? This was the Hunger Games. It didn't matter how pretty Andrea was - what mattered was he getting home back to Marietta, his real girlfriend, Shiloh, and the rest of his family and District 9.

"That's decided, then," declared Andrea happily. "We're allies!"

"Before that, I want to make a pact with you," Taylor said quietly. Andrea stopped, puzzled by his mood. "Let's promise that we'll try our best to protect each other. I want to bring a victory to District 9."

"But this is the Hunger Games," said Andrea. "What about the final? I know I've only known you for an afternoon, but I don't want to fight you at the end," she confessed.

"You're thinking ahead," Taylor responded. "Who says we'll both make it to the final, anyway? We'll think about it once we're there."

Andrea nodded.

"I just hope it all goes well," she said.

"So do I." Taylor sighed. "But as you see, the odds were never in our favor … "

* * *

 **District 10 Train**

From the moment she saw her partner, Idoya knew she had to get away. He was weak, a coward. And in the Hunger Games, these kinds of people would either drag you down or kill you out of weakness.

Cameron said nothing to Idoya's hostility, deciding to response to silence. It had worked for years with the street bullies and he believed it would work now. He would leave it up to Idoya if she wanted him as an ally or not.

 _Goddamn, Jemina,_ Idoya thought, thinking of her sister. Was she alright, alone at the house? Their mother Lotte had gone to work - Idoya hoped Jemina wasn't crying. Was she scared, all alone at that house?

Idoya being Reaped surely had taken something off her mother's shoulders. Surely they hadn't had to move yet?

The sound of the violin rang through her room as Idoya's fingers strung and played. There were a few things Idoya liked about the Capitol, but one was that she could play music as much as she wanted to.

She stared out at the endless landscape as she played. The music turned sad as Idoya pondered on how to return to District 10. If she won, she would have the life she had always wanted. If she lost … well, she would just be another sacrifice of the Hunger Games.

She silently promised herself that the would never happen. But as it had been proved, Idoya wasn't good at keeping secrets.

She looked out at the night landscape. The next morning, she would be in the Capitol. From then, she knew everything would pass quickly. Too soon it'll be the day of the Games and the day of the Bloodbath.

Idoya was terrified of what was coming. Yet she would not go down without a fight.

* * *

 **District 11 Train**

Shellby was terrified of her District partner. He was eighteen years old, sturdily built, and powerful, but that wasn't what terrified Shellby.

He was an absolute psychopath.

At dinner, he had overturned the tables and had injured their escort and their mentor. He had hit an Avox, until finally the Peacekeepers stepped in and shut him up in his room. Shellby could still hear his howls.

She had never expected an insane boy as her District partner. It made things so much more complicated.

When she had first seen the boy, she had realized that he wasn't completely stable. But not … well, not like this.

Shellby sighed quietly. Worrying changed nothing.

Despite what she had told Noah, Shellby was determined to return to District 11 and see them all again. The life ahead her would be blissful if she won. But 23 out of 24 tributes would never come back. Who said she would be lucky enough to be the final one?

She wanted to see the sunrise again. Whatever happened, life continued on. The sun would rise every morning. And Shellby was determined to see a bunch more.

Yes, she was scared. Yes, she was worried. But everyone was, maybe except the Careers and her District partner.

And Shellby hadn't accepted the fact that she was goihg to die. Because a fire inside her would not let go. Letting go would make everything so much easier. But Shellby would take the harder path, because the reward was too great. Because of its temptation. Because, of the thought that the beautiful dream she had always dreamt of might come true.

A big house, ringing with each of her sibling's laughter. Her mother healthy and up about, chatising them like an ordinary mother. Her father playing with the little twins.

There was so much Shellby dreamed of. Yet she had given up them a long time ago.

Now … this was her chance. The chance for her dream to come true.

* * *

 **District 12 Train**

Night passed and morning arrived. The sun outlined itself against the faraway mountains of the Districts, the home that they had left behind.

In a few minutes, they would arrive in the Capitol.

Nico took a deep breath. Beside him his District partner Cassia sighed. Nico saw that she was nervous, her body shaking and hands trembling.

He had the oddest urge to put an arm around her and reassure her that it was all going to be alright. Cassia was a year older than him, but her awkwardness reminded him of his sister Amaliya.

 _I have enough to worry about,_ Nico told himself. The Tribute Parade was approaching. The year before the last, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had made a splash, by The stylist Cinna. Nico wasn't too worried, more worried about how much the Capitol would like his personality.

It was going to be all right. It had to be, because he wasn't going to fucking die. He wasn't. Nico refused it, and he would not. In a few days he would be back in District 12.

And that was a promise.

* * *

 **I'll be the first to admit that this isn't my best work, but I still hope you enjoyed and please review! The next chapter will be the Tribute Parade, so check it out please~**


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